


Not Quite By Chance

by NoTimeTeen



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-09-28 06:40:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 44,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10077812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoTimeTeen/pseuds/NoTimeTeen
Summary: Annabeth's sad and in need of a friend after Percy's disappearance. Piper is available and probably headed for very troubled times. "I don't know how all this works for normal people, but I'm convinced that for us demigods there's not such a thing as a coincidence. Nothing happens by chance." Important references for most of what was written before TSoN. P/A. P/J. A/P.





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> Weekly updates. Starts the night after the meeting at the end of The Lost Hero. And it'll all occur between that and The Son of Neptune.

**I.**

You've always loved how the waves sort of drain all your troubles away. How the soft sound of the sea rolling could soothe you to sleep.

Far ahead, you see thick clouds being swallowed by the horizon, swirling and rumbling. Intermittent lightning-bolts illuminate both the irregular aerial landscape and the softly-moving plains. Your goal is much closer, though.

You walk past several small dunes until you're standing at the beach. You stop and crouch to take off your shoes and socks, humming contently when your toes dip in the moist sand.

Staring out at it, you wonder if it wouldn't be more logical for you to be a daughter of Poseidon instead of Aphrodite, with how much you love the ocean. You're conscious of the absurdity of that thought, because there's no way in Hades you could have both a godly father and a human father. Still, you wonder.

Maybe you just love the sea so much because of all the good days you've spent surfing it in the company of your father. As if every image of the sea has always been attached to the thought of your father spending time with you… You don't know.

What you do know is that it makes you happy. And standing here, doing nothing but staring into the darkness as the ocean plays its music, you don't know whether you feel like laying down and falling asleep or like going off to stroll the length of the bay all night long. You decide you'll try to do the latter and begin walking, sighing pleasantly every now and then whenever a high wave rises to caress your feet. The water is quite warm.

Eventually you stop. You sit silently on a dry spot where the grass turns into sand. You close your eyes, hugging your knees to protect your body from the occasional cold breezes.

You're not really conscious of how long goes by. It's only when chills run down your spine that you open your eyes again. You know you're not alone anymore.

There's no reason for you to be scared. You're at Camp, after all. Not to mention you're at its beach, the farthest place there is to any kind of danger. The monsters allowed inside dwell at the woods, and that's well away from where you are. Some of the fiercest demigods in the world stand between you and any kind of monster that would dare venturing out of the canopy of trees. The worst thing that could happen would be to be found by a harpy, and even that would only mean having extra chores tomorrow and being personally scolded by Chiron.

There's no reason for you to be scared, so you try your best to stay calm.

You look around.

At first you don't see anyone. Or anything, really, just stars and a huge moon. Then you notice someone standing far to your right, beyond the place where your footprints turn to the place where you're sitting. With barely a glance you determine it must be a girl. Her figure is slim and tall, her movements confident although you think there is a certain slump to them, as if every step took a lot out of her.

You don't recognize her, but that's hardly surprising. You haven't lived here long enough to recognize anyone in the darkness, you tell yourself.

You wait for the mysterious figure to look around, to listen to your loud heartbeat and come say hello. You wait for her to acknowledge your presence in some way. But she doesn't. She just stands there, staring out into the ocean and taking slow steps at long intervals.

You feel like an intruder. You wonder if you should talk to her, let her know you're here. It would be embarrassing, but somehow you know it would be far more embarrassing to just sit and watch until she finally saw you. You suppress the urge to run away just so you don't alert her. Whatever it is she's doing, it feels intimate, private.

The girl walks until the water goes up to her knees, then she stops. You frown curiously, wondering if she's okay. You half expect her to dive into the water next. Maybe you _should_ let her know you're here… to help her. What if she's unstable and plans on drowning herself? You've never heard of a depressive demigod, but the current situation makes you think about it.

Just when you're about to call out to her, the girl turns. You recognize her, and deep inside your head you tell yourself you should have recognized her earlier. It's not until you see her face that you notice the blond hair that falls on her shoulders, or the armor that covers her body, for that matter.

It's Annabeth Chase, hero extraordinaire.

Just today, your half-sister Lacy told you stories, legends of the brave Annabeth Chase, who helped defeat Kronos himself along with his army, who had come to be named the architect of Olympus, who was the girlfriend of Percy Jackson, the modern Achilles, and whatever else. The first time you met her, desperate and angry at the Grand Canyon, she hadn't looked so majestic.

Standing here, at the beach, she doesn't look so majestic either. It is suddenly obvious that she's been crying, which makes you feel more like an intruder. Her eyes are puffy and red, and her shoulders look like they could use some help with holding up her armor because of how slumped they are. The sight is sad, and strangely beautiful. It makes you think of what your father used to tell you when you were a child so that you'd stop crying.

"You know, Pipes," he'd say. "The easiest way to know how beautiful a girl is, is by watching them when they cry. If they look beautiful when they're crying, there's no possible way to make them look ugly. And right now, Pipes — right now you look downright gorgeous."

It made you smile every time he said it.

Annabeth looks downright gorgeous as well, right now, right there, in front of you, squinting through the darkness in your direction…

"Piper?"

You almost jump out of your skin. It's not until she calls your name again that you realize she's the one doing it. You were so hypnotized by her sad expression that you didn't see when she noticed you.

Annabeth approaches you, shamelessly rubbing the tears out of her eyes.

"Hello," she greets with a sad smile on her face.

"Hi," you mumble.

"How long have you…?" Annabeth trails off. She doesn't sound angry, just slightly embarrassed.

"I… er…" You hesitate. She nods, understanding you've been here long enough.

"You shouldn't be here," she mutters. She sits next to you, chuckling. " _We_ shouldn't be here."

"I just… came for a walk," you say.

"Tough day?" You nod silently. "Yeah. It's not every day you're told the world depends on you…"

"You say it like it's happened to you before." Annabeth just stares far ahead, as if thinking, _If you only knew_. "What's wrong?" you ask before you can think.

"What?" She pretends to be surprised, blinking too much and shaking her head a bit too impractically. "Oh, nothing. I just…"

She sighs deeply and her shoulders slump again. "Is it your boyfriend?"

She stays quiet for a long time. You briefly wonder if you've stepped over a line. It's being an Aphrodite's daughter messing with you once again. You've become good at reading people's emotions since you found out you're her daughter, and it's made you sort of reckless, making you feel like you were privy to everybody's secrets. You wonder if that impression has made you rude.

"I don't think I've given myself time to fully get it." Annabeth sounds thoughtful. "I mean, of course I've cried — _Gods!_ have I cried — but it feels as if these last few days I've been so busy searching for him that I haven't accepted that I might not find him."

"And after today…"

"Yeah. And it's even worse because this is different than the one time I was lost, because then he rescued me in just days, and it's already been too long and I don't even _know_ where he is and everybody expects _me_ to know where to look for him…"

"But you don't."

"Exactly," she sighs helplessly. "Everybody expects me to know what to do. And now you guys show up, after saving a goddess and everything, with the only believable theory of Percy's whereabouts and I _want_ to believe you but I just…"

"Don't know if you should."

She looks away, not denying it.

The whole exchange surprises you. Maybe darkness makes it easier for her to trust me, you think. Because you can't pretend you're not surprised. The fact that she's trusting you with all this makes you reconsider. Maybe you're not rude, maybe you're comprehensive, instead.

"I really want to trust you, Piper." She turns her face to you.

You don't know what to say. You're flattered she's trusting you, and you're happy because you finally feel like you've found a friend at Camp Half-Blood, someone you can talk to that won't dismiss you to build machines like Leo would, and that won't want to start talking about make-up or the naked torsos of movie-stars like your siblings would; someone to whom you're not attracted — because Aphrodite only _knows_ just how hard it is for you to talk to Jason without getting flustered or without saying things you shouldn't say.

But you barely know this girl who's torturing herself over the absence of her boyfriend and who will most likely need all the emotional support she can get to get her through the next several months and you don't know whether you'll be up to it. You don't know whether you'll be able to really help or if you'll find yourself in a situation where her sadness overcomes your capacity, and you're afraid it'll hurt her even more.

You realize Annabeth's still looking at you, her eyes full of hope and her smile full of potential promises. You can already see her laughing to whatever stupid jokes you say to make her feel better, and crying her eyes out as you pat her back uselessly. You can hear all the secrets you'll tell her, and imagine all the romantic stories of her boyfriend she'll tell you. You can hear her voice whispering all the sadness out of her…

And you know it's something worth every risk, having her as a friend.

You smile. "And I'm gonna help you trust me, Annabeth."


	2. II.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized I forgot to mention there's lots of references to the books in this story. Very specific references sometimes. I don't expect it'll be a problem, but if I feel it is, maybe I'll include an excerpt of the specific reference...

**II.**

"Of all the places at Camp," you say, sounding far more delighted than you're feeling, "I find you here."

Annabeth turns around. She's spreading a roll of blueprints open in front of her. Behind her stands one of Leo's sisters. You don't know her name, so you don't greet her, but you smile at her half-apologetically for interrupting.

"Piper," Annabeth says.

It's funny how there's things that are unremarkable until they're absent, you think. Like Annabeth's T-shirt. Every time you've seen her she's been wearing it. But not today. And it's just as you notice her black tank top that you realize you've never seen her in anything but orange.

You felt ready to be angry at her. After spending all morning looking for her at the most unlikely places of Camp, you were almost practicing your scowl as you walked to Bunker 9. However, the smile she wears on her face is contagious, and you're returning it out of instinct, your anger already forgotten.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, looking around. The place is full of hard-working Hephaestus's children. You can't see Leo anywhere, but you somehow know he's around.

"Working," is all the explanation Annabeth provides. She gives the other girl some more instructions you don't try to decipher. They nod at each other, look down at the blueprints, point out towards details of the Celestial bronze structure that's behind them. Finally, Annabeth hands over the roll of blueprints and turns to you. "So," she smiles tentatively. "What's been going on?"

You shrug. "Just me looking for you."

Her eyebrows quirk. "What for?"

"Oh, you know…" You hesitate.

You don't know exactly why you were looking for her. You never stopped to think about it. In retrospect, it had felt like the right thing to do after last night. You two spent a couple of long hours talking, telling each other things you didn't know, things you rarely ever shared. Annabeth had looked particularly astonished when she told you of her almost inherent fear of spiders. And it surprised you to hear your own voice mentioning your father the actor, whose identity you well remembered hiding from her that day before your quest.

"It's okay," she said sincerely when she saw your expression. "I already had my suspicions. I don't know how many other McLean Cherokee artists there are, but after thinking about that conversation of us it seemed obvious."

At least you were right about her being pretty smart.

She's still looking at you inquisitively, so you think for a second and shrug again. "Can't stand my siblings," you half lie.

"Tell me about it…" Annabeth chuckles. "Come, let's hide up there."

Annabeth leads you to a dark corner of the hangar-sized workshop. You wonder what she means by hiding. You're about to ask when some other kids stop her and smother her with technical questions. Annabeth apologizes to them, shoving her way through. You follow.

"Never thought an Athena child would teach these kids anything."

"I know," she answers. The Hephaestus kids go back to their worktables looking quite troubled. "It's just Leo's often hard to find, even in here… I'm the next best thing, I guess."

Annabeth climbs up a metal staircase, her steps swift and silent.

The metal structure of the catwalk hangs from the ceiling, tall as it is, and spreads all over Bunker 9 in a series of different aisles. All kinds of lightbulbs hang from the floor, leaving the catwalk itself in darkness. From here you can see the whole huge place, but no one could see you from below — not unless they knew what they were looking for. You now understand why Annabeth would want to come up here. If she wanted to hide, you think, there must not be a better place than this in all Camp.

"Cool place, huh?" Annabeth asks.

She's in a good mood, you figure. When you said goodbye to her last night she still looked sad. It's nice seeing that smile on her again.

"Who're we hiding from?" you question.

"Them… Everyone…" Annabeth sighs. She turns her head to you momentarily and shrugs. "I'm not sure… This is the only place I wanted to be in. The only place that didn't remind me of… You know."

You hate the way her smile fades.

"Well," you say unsure. "I'm here now. What do you wanna do?" You feel ridiculous the moment you say it. Yeah, right, Piper, you tell yourself, because your being here sure makes the memory of her missing boyfriend disappear.

Annabeth seems to find it amusing, though, since she laughs. "Okay," she says. "Let's just talk… Come on, tell me about your dad. Do you ever see him act?"

You chuckle, frowning slightly at the absurdness of the change of topic. "Not really. I don't really like watching his movies in the first place, much less seeing him act. It's funny sometimes watching him get into character, or learning his lines, though. He stands in front of his mirror and repeats it all to himself. He always moves his hands a lot. Like this. And he makes lots of different voices, always varying its graveness or its harshness. For hours. Until he feels he has it. I know, what's with that, right?"

Annabeth laughs again. A short, melodic sound, filled with questioning wonder. "It's crazy."

"Actors are crazy."

"Strange words for the daughter of an actor… or for a daughter of Aphrodite, for that matter. I bet many of your sisters wish they could be actresses."

"Yeah, well." You take a couple of steps down the aisle distractedly. Simply to put some distance between you and the stairs, not to get away from her. Annabeth soon follows with distracted steps of her own. You continue, "I'm not like them. I've never liked being the daughter of an actor a lot. Imagine," she mocks: " _Look, look, there comes the kleptomaniac_ dau _ghter of Tristan McLean!_ I can just hear those stupid silly girls from my old schools." You grit your teeth.

Annabeth laughs at your irrational anger. "You never told anyone either, then?" You shake your head. "In my experience, no one makes fun of a rich girl. Maybe you're crazy, too."

"Must run in the family," you finish, shrugging.

"Good thing my dad's a historian, then."

"There's some good things, too. We're rich to begin with, so… Besides, there's this movie he once made of a Greek guy…"

You go on and tell her all about the time you and your dad had to read lots of Greek mythology for his movie, and how it has kept you alive now that you are a demigod.

You're at ease. You feel as comfortable with her as you would were you talking to Leo, with the plus that you never feel the urge to roll your eyes whenever he makes a stupid comment. And you feel much more comfortable than you would were you talking to Jason, or to your siblings from the Aphrodite cabin.

Your conversation is broken from time to time by loud bangs coming from below. Bangs that come either from devices exploding or from hammers being thrown across the workshop with deadly precision and that are narrowly dodged by some amused demigod. Soon you're sitting on the metal floor at the opposite side of the place after having drifted slowly through the aisles, talking all the while.

Annabeth started telling you some seriously crazy stories of how her own knowledge of Greek monsters and gods got her out of trouble after you finish. It seems to you that all her stories include that Percy Jackson guy in some way. You're sort of proud that she's talking about him so much without showing any hint of the sadness that burdened her last night.

Her gray eyes sparkle electrically as she immerses in her tales. It's the same sparkle you've seen in Leo's eyes whenever he's building something to distract himself. The same sparkle that lights your half-sister Lacy's eyes whenever she talks of someone famous, as you discovered just yesterday. It occurs to you that it might have something to do with Annabeth's ADHD, a feature that you do not share with her, nor with any other demigod at Camp Half-Blood — except for Jason, but since he turned out to be some sort of Roman you don't think it's something you should presume —. Said feature, of course, is totally lovely on her.

By the time Annabeth stops, you're already feeling hungry. That means it's late, since you ate plenty before you started looking for her.

She looks down at her watch when there's an extended silence between you. "Oh," she says, her smile falling slightly, the spark leaving her eyes. "I have to go. I promised Chiron I'd help him with his sword-fighting lesson today. Don't you wanna come?"

"With the bunch of kids? You kidding? I freed a goddess and helped kill a giant. If I go to a sword-fighting class I expect they put me with some talented sword-fighter like you as my classmate, not my teacher."

"Ha ha," she laughs. "Okay, sure."

You go down with her and wave at her as she exits Bunker 9. And even after she turns, you watch until she disappears amid the trees in the distance, mulling over your long talk. There's an interesting feeling of satisfaction deep in your gut.

"What's going on here?"

You turn to see Leo approaching. "What do you mean?"

"Why's Annabeth here? Had she come to scold me for some reason and you protected me? Thanks a lot, Beauty Queen."

"What? No." You blink. "She was around when I came. Hours ago, Leo. We went up there and talked for a while."

"Oh." Leo frowns in concentration. You imagine he's probably trying to remember seeing either of you at some point during the day. "I didn't know you were here, Pipes."

"Hours ago, Leo," you repeat. "What do you mean scold you, anyway?"

"What?" he says distractedly. "Oh! You know. She's rather…" He shudders as if he'd just seen something terrifying. "I don't know. I guess I imagined she'd want to scold me now that I'm the head of my cabin and the Officially Super-Awesome Captain of our quest…"

"Really, Leo?"

"I know," he sighs resignedly. "The title's too awesome, isn't it? Not at all modest. I'm working on it."

Even though you're glad he's changing that stupid nickname, you tell him, "That's not what I meant. You _imagined_ it, and you thought that was reason enough to assume she'd come to scold you?"

"What do you want me to say, Pipes? She's sad, she might be unstable." He shrugs. "The power of ideas." He smiles at you as if that was a logical excuse. "So anyway, you're now friends with her or something?"

Sighing amusedly, you shrug. "I think so." You don't think there's anything else to be said. Still, you feel as if you needed to explain. Probably because — you must be honest with yourself — Leo has quickly become your closest friend here at Camp, and you don't want him to feel like you've replaced him… Or so you tell yourself. "She's having an awful time with all that's going on. Apparently, she and her boyfriend were very close."

"Well," Leo says, his mind already slipping away as he picks up some unfinished device from a nearby table. "They _are_ a couple… Were. Whatever. Were you looking for something?" He looks at you distractedly.

"I…" You hesitate, staring out the gate. Out at the trees behind which Annabeth just disappeared. You see her smile and hear her laugh. You replay the emotion-filled session you shared last night and the way you stupidly drew a smile on her face earlier. You think of how awkward you are around your own siblings because you're so different to them, how uncomfortable you feel around Jason because you like him so much, how ready you are to see Leo ignore you whenever you speak to him. You think of how easy it was talking to Annabeth, and of how long your conversation was even when it felt so short, of how you've talked to her only three or four times and still you've already told her things like your father being an actor and your having a huge crush on Jason, things you never would've mentioned to someone after such a short time…

You smile reluctantly and say, "I guess I came looking for a friend."

Spreading his arms at his sides, Leo answers, "Well, here you have me."


	3. III.

**III.**

Today, Annabeth talks to you about this Percy Jackson guy.

The whole last week you've heard the name in several occasions. You immediately realized your guess had been correct — Percy Jackson has been involved in almost every adventure Annabeth has ever had.

She's told you of the time he stumbled down Half-Blood Hill carrying a passed-out satyr before passing out himself on the porch of the Big House; of the time he jumped off the Gateway Arch and fell on the Mississippi River; of the time he summoned salt water in the middle of Texas to clean some nasty stables. She's even told you how he became quite rodentish since he got turned into a guinea pig. By now you've heard so much about him you feel like you've known him your whole life.

But what she tells you today is something you haven't heard.

"I think it was after we went into the Labyrinth that I realized I liked him," Annabeth is saying. "I guess you don't go down there for two weeks and in two different occasions without needing to relay sentimentally on your companion."

Today she's telling you of how they fell for each other.

The first thing you did when you saw her, though, was not to bring up the topic of her missing boyfriend. That's something you've been trying to avoid all week. But it's true that, except for Bunker 9, every place at Camp Half-Blood reminds Annabeth of Percy Jackson — which kind of sucks, because the first thing you did today, when you saw her, was try to get Annabeth out of Bunker 9.

"You're starting to look pale," you told her when you climbed up to the catwalk, now your common meeting-place. "It's seriously ruining your Californian-girl look. Have you ever seen a _pale_ blond girl? Of course not. Because it's not _normal_ , Annabeth!"

You took her by the wrist and dragged her out and into the woods. The two of you walked for a long while in silence, until you got to a familiar wide clearing. A huge, shapeless mountain of boulders rose at the midst. And you were terrified when you saw her face darkening.

She explained to you how the place was almost an unofficial graveyard for a lot of campers. A cursed place. It's the place where years ago the Battle of the Labyrinth took place. Something that, sure enough, you knew already, even if you pretended not to.

"I lost a lot of friends here," she continued sadly.

You felt like asking her how you could enter that famous Labyrinth so that a monster could eat you for being so stupid.

Fortunately, Annabeth sat down and started to talk about how the place used to be a strategically-advantageous point back when it wasn't cursed. How she and her brothers had often used it as headquarters during capture-the-flag games. She loves talking about strategy. It gives her eyes that little light you like seeing so much.

Then she mentioned going into the Labyrinth and her mind diverted that way. And the last twenty minutes she's been talking of her quest down there and of how after that she and Percy started sort of liking each other openly. She's funny like that, you've discovered. If you were to ask her something about her architectural projects for Olympus, she would spent the next two hours trying to explain to you how beautiful it'll be, without even remembering your present conversation.

However, you're much too interested to distract her.

"Besides," she goes on, "I think we never were friends to begin with. I always thought we were. Honestly. At first he was annoying. Then I sort of liked him. As a friend, I mean. But after the Labyrinth… Even before, though. When he rescued me… Well, he literally travelled across the country to help me. I remember we danced that time, when we went to Olympus for the winter solstice. And it occurred to me, then. I imagined he told me he liked me, right there on the dance floor of Olympus. I thought I was crazy. But it was like they say it is when a small spark falls on dry leaves and gets them to burn. That small thought crossed my head all the time that winter. And later when I was at school…"

Annabeth smiles, her gaze lost across the clearing.

You wish your story with Jason was that romantic. Annabeth and Percy… They liked each other for years, went on lots of adventures together, saved each other's lives lots of times. Jason and you… Well, he woke up one day not knowing who you were while you believed you were his girlfriend. Except it turned out you didn't know who he was either, and all you remembered doing with him was a fantasy.

You and Jason started liking each other only because the idea was planted in _your_ head, not even in his — how romantic.

It's not like you'll stop liking him now that you know Annabeth's and Percy's romantic story. You still think about Jason all the time. You still like him an awful lot. It's just because it is so hard to talk to him that you doubt your feelings for him. And you're not even doubting them. You're just wishing it was easier sometimes.

Annabeth's still talking: "I remember all those questions I made myself when I went to school that spring. Because I've always had a lot of friends, but none like Percy." She shrugs, glancing at you briefly in a gesture that simply throws you off-balance. The way she's talking makes you feel like an intruder even though her tone's so casual and her comments so offhanded. Her acknowledging your presence only serves to make it seem even more intimate. "It was as if I wanted to see him all the time. And I was just anxious for the semester to end so I could come back to Camp to go on some crazy quest with him. By then I already knew we'd be exploring the Labyrinth. I didn't know the two of us would end up going, of course, or that I would be the one leading the quest. But in those days everyone wanted us to do everything, because Percy was just so… efficient. Sort of like Jason, I guess. So, I already suspected the two of us would end up going."

She sighs and relaxes against the tree she's leaning on. You feel her shoulder against yours. She's wearing a white tank top today. You hate to think about how dirty it'll be when she stands up.

The silence stretches, making the air feel heavy and moist. It really shouldn't be allowed to let Camp get this hot during winter. Weather is supposed to be artificially controlled inside here. What's with that, you complain mentally.

Annabeth's still quiet. You start wondering if she wants you to say something. She mentioned Jason, maybe she expects you'll tell her something about how you two have fallen for each other. The thought almost makes you blush. Your story next to hers is as innocent as two kindergartners becoming a couple in the playground for only one day before they get into an argument and break each other's toys.

She chuckles suddenly. "And during that quest — during that whole summer, really — he was completely clueless. It even depressed me for a while. We were hanging out all the time and I already knew I liked him and I was very suspicious that he liked me too and I was being advised by some girls from your cabin to do things this way and that so that he would get some sort of hint… But he always gave me this stupid look whenever I dropped those hints. As if he was trying to decide whether I meant them or not… That stupid face he makes is one of the things I miss the most."

You find yourself staring at her. Her brow does this little frown whenever she's remembering something. You find it cute. Her blond hair is pulled up in a bun on top of her head, which makes her even cuter. You've seen her hair pulled up a lot lately. She's letting it grow.

Your own hair now falls to your shoulders, where you feel it tickle all the time. You can't help but hate that.

But everybody at Camp has their minds elsewhere — everywhere but in themselves. That is, at least the campers that are around you more often. The whole Hephaestus cabin is hard at work building their _Argo II_ , defined by that weird girl Nyssa as their future landmark, whatever that means. The Athena cabin is the one that helps the most with that. Annabeth in particular. She seems to be the only one that understands Leo's complex ideas to make the ship move. The rest of the cabins are still sending campers on quests looking for Percy or for signs of the Roman camp. So far, no quest has been fruitful.

Annabeth has spent the last week dividing her time between you and the preparation of a schedule for the construction at Bunker 9. Leo had been trying to do that himself, but eventually he admitted defeat and asked Annabeth for help. She's planned three stages of developing for the _Argo II_ , so that it can be ready in time for the summer solstice.

You've had some trouble understanding what the schedule's all about. They have all those blueprints. Can't they just build the stuff that's in them quickly and that's it?

"Of course not, silly," Annabeth chuckled at you when you mentioned it. "There's things that we need to do before some others are done. For example, with the additions Leo did, the engine had to be to be ready before we could start working on the structure," she explained. Which, as was to be expected, left you as confused as you were before.

"I guess when you think about it," Annabeth continues, her tone confidential, "it's us not being friends what's the most curious thing. It's as if, instead of friends, we were two kids who always liked each other and who went on quests and survived by sheer luck at first and by pure experience later on. Until we finally admitted, both to ourselves and to each other, that we liked the other…" Her lip pulls up at a corner in a wince that denotes slight confusion. "Does that make any sense?" She looks at you.

"I guess," you say doubtfully.

"I don't know. I keep thinking we don't make sense. He's so obtuse sometimes… And I'd like to think of myself as centered. But… Yeah."

"You _are_ centered, Annabeth," you reassure her. Your next words come from a place in your mind you fail to identify. "Anyway, maybe it's because it doesn't make sense that you miss him so much…"

"Maybe it's because I miss him so much that it doesn't make sense."

You frown, not sure where this is going. "What do you mean?"

"I've no idea."

She says it shortly, and briefly. As if she had half expected the words wouldn't come out.

In your head you wonder, what does she mean? Does it mean she's having doubts in some way? Does it mean Annabeth doesn't love her Percy?

Of course she does. There's no way she doesn't. You've been listening to her tell you all their stories, always with that dreamy, far-off expression in her face. There's no way she's not in love with him.

So, what does she mean it makes no sense?

Annabeth smiles. "How did we become so serious out of the blue?" she says. But it's not right. Her smile is too big, and her ears are reddening. She wants to change the subject, you realize. You almost don't let her. You almost tell her to keep talking to you of Percy, almost ask for that story of the rodent and the pirate ship again. But her eyes are pleading. Electric and bright with the silent request that you let her be.

You don't know what's going on in that head of hers, but you decide this is not the right time to find out.

"It's just you and your old age," you tell her. It's too bad your fake smile is so terrible. If it wasn't, she wouldn't realize how conscious you are of her hesitation to speak. She knows, though, you can just see it in her eyes.

Stop that, you tell yourself. Why can't I just enjoy myself for a while without overthinking all she does?

She looks out to the clearing again while you shush every thought that threatens to surface in your head. Soon her comments, her doubts and all your suspicions fade away.

After a while Annabeth asks you if you've ever been to New York City. When you tell her no she starts talking of all these beautiful buildings and monuments. All these beautiful statues and cravings of Greek gods. Talks to you of Olympus and of what she's still planning on doing there. She tells you she'll invite you some day, soon, when she goes back for her semester, and show you all there is to see. She goes on and on until the sun sets in the distance.

The sun's bright on Annabeth's face and in her eyes as she speaks, and for a long time there's nothing else you can put your focus on.

It sometimes overwhelms you how beautiful she is. Makes you feel like you should be afraid Jason would fall for her instead of you.

Please, Piper, you think suddenly. With all the time she's spending with you, _he_ should be afraid you fall for her instead of him.

The moment that thought appears you're struck as if by lightning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Useless fact of the week — The man in flames from the cover image of Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here was a stuntman who was actually in flames... And yes, I totally recommend that album...  
> (Besides, and I mention this just because I can't seem to help myself, I'm not completely sure of it, but I believe that the place where said picture was shot was also a location in La La Land.)


	4. IV.

**IV.**

You walk up to Jason and Leo on New Year's Eve. They're sitting at a particularly crowded spot at the beach, which obviously doesn't make any easier what you're about to do.

"Here, Pipes," Jason calls.

Every head in a twenty-camper radius — and that's more space than it sounds like — turns to you.

"Jason. Hi."

You squeeze yourself between them.

"Where've you been lately, huh?"

"You're not serious with that question, are you, you genius?" Leo intercedes. "She's been with her new best friend, of course."

"Annabeth?" Leo hums in confirmation. Jason's expression is hard to read. "New best friend?"

"I wouldn't call it that," you reassure him. But of course you would call it that. "I'm just trying to help her. She's so sad sometimes."

"Misses her Superman? Um. Super-demigod? Whatever?"

"Leo?"

"Right here."

"Stop it." Jason sends his charming smile at you. You blush. "Isn't it crazy we're celebrating New Year's Eve?"

You frown slightly. Sometimes you forget he's just remembering what his life was like in the Roman camp. "What," you ask, "don't you guys celebrate New Year?"

"To be honest, I don't even remember," he answers, his face crunching up into that suffering expression of his. For the hundredth time, you wonder if what produces it is genuine suffering or just mere frustration. "I guess we do, but what's crazy is that we just found out we're headed for war, and yet we're celebrating."

"It's like I always say, man," says Leo. "It's better to laugh than to cry in the face of Armageddon."

"Wait, you always say that?"

"Sure." Leo closes his eyes earnestly.

"Since when?"

"Since about a second ago. Didn't you hear me? I just said it."

"You can't just make up phrases and repeat them as if they were from philosophers, dude. Even less if they're yours."

"Sure I can. Besides, you're totally missing the point, man. Listen to the awesomeness of the moral, dude."

You roll your eyes, more amused than annoyed. Boys can be so dull sometimes. You admire Leo's ability for being so funny, though. It always seems to get him on the good side of people, because no one ever takes him seriously. Besides, his good humor is always lightening the mood.

Anyway, you think. You came to do one thing only.

"Guys. Guys! _Guys!_ " You try to say the word quickly to avoid unwanted attention. But as you have learned over a lifetime of disrespectful paparazzies, the world bears unwanted attention to spare. Everybody shuts up and looks at where you're sitting. Scowling, you continue — relaxing a bit when you hear conversations resume around you. "It's actually because of Annabeth that I came. Um. I'll be with her tonight. At least for a while. She wants to avoid the crowd."

"But…" Jason frowns. You'd been planning this night all week… if you can call agreeing to come together planning, that is.

"Why don't you bring her. I can push around some butts to fit her in." Leo looks at the campers at his side, ready to push them away.

"No," you stop him. "No, she wants to watch the fireworks from that other beach, I think. I could let her alone and be here with you, but I'm scared she'll do something crazy. She has this idea that if she gets in the water Percy will sense her." That's a terrible lie. Anyone who knows Annabeth one bit would realize it.

Fortunately for you, Leo doesn't know much about Annabeth, and Jason, who doesn't seem to like her a lot, knows even less. They both nod comprehendingly.

Leo cries, in a mocking tone of admiration, "The world needs people as giving as you are, darling! I hope we can learn from you."

Laughing, you stand up. "Shut up, Leo, you fool."

Jason stands up with you and takes your hand with a dumb expression, as if thinking what to say. "So, Pipes," he says finally, "I hope you have a great year."

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. "Sure," you respond. "You too."

He leans his head down and kisses you. And the kiss is as awkward as ever. You're a daughter of Aphrodite, you're supposed to know how to do these things. But you don't. You're always second-guessing yourself and overthinking all you do around Jason.

As he kisses you, you don't know if you're moving your lips a lot — or if you're moving them at all, in fact. You try placing your hands on his shoulders but he's too tall for that to be comfortable; you try lowering them to his hips and that's still uncomfortably high. You feel his own hands dancing on your back unconfidently, searching for a safe spot to land. They never do. You decide that's enough embarrassment for one night.

You push away from his kiss.

"I'll try to come back later, okay? When she goes to sleep."

Jason stares at you in a daze. Leo, who looks quite amused after watching you two kiss, responds for him. "We'll be here, Beauty Queen. You try to keep Annabeth alive now."

...

The beach that's beyond the dinning pavilion, the one that's closest to the cabins, that's the one they call the Fireworks Beach. You had decided from day one at Camp Half-Blood that you hated that place.

Annabeth had once mentioned the place didn't use to be so crowded, that back before the whole Titan War happened, there weren't enough campers to crowd it — or to crowd any other place, really.

However, there's so many campers now that every place seems crowded, no matter how many other campers are busy with their sword-fighting, arts and crafts or monsters lessons. And the Fireworks Beach in particular is always crowded.

No, no, you like better that other beach, the one that's across the creek and beyond the climbing wall. That one, in contrast, is always empty. That's where you always take Jason to walk with you, and that's where you and Annabeth started talking the other day.

That's where you find Annabeth after telling Jason you won't be with him on New Year's Eve, and you have to say, this beach is _much_ better than the Fireworks Beach.

"'Sup, Beauty Queen."

"Oh, please," you whine, sounding overtly childlike. "It's already annoying to have Leo calling me that."

Annabeth chuckles at you. Her legs are stretched out in front of her, long as they are, her calves and ankles looking very smooth and bright in the moonlight. Her shorts cover her thighs and end below her knee. Her tank top is a very dark blue.

"What's wrong with it?" she asks. "It's a nice nickname. Friendly. Besides, it's not ill-intended, is it? I mean, Leo didn't put it to annoy you." She hesitates, not sure she's right. "Or did he?"

You shrug. "I don't know. I don't think I like it, either way." You sit next to her, staring off into the distance. "I guess it's not so bad. But allowing it would be so… arrogant. So self-centered," you finish with a wince.

"Mm." Annabeth tilts her head to the side. "I'd like to think allowing it would be… you being self-aware." It takes you a second to understand what she's saying. "Ha!" she exclaims when you finally figure it out. "I knew that'd make you blush."

And of course that makes you blush harder. "Shut up, you dumb old woman!" you retort. "It's not funny."

"But it's true — You _are_ a beauty queen."

You smile flattered when she turns away.

"And what do you mean 'old woman', anyway?" Annabeth continues. "I can't be more than a year or two older than you."

"All I hear is you calling yourself 'older than me', I'm sorry…" She chuckles, shaking her head in mocking resignation. "How can you even see me blush," you ask. "It's so dark."

"Well, you know how you can speak French because of your mom?"

"Yeah."

"Well, we Athena children have night-vision, didn't you know?"

"Really?"

"Gods, Piper, I could say anything right now and you would believe it," Annabeth laughs.

With a frown, you warn her you're this close to hitting her if she doesn't stop making fun of you. "What's gotten into you, you're in such a good mood?" She says nothing. You just hear her breathing slow down. "You laugh at me again and I swear I'll go see these famous fireworks with Jason and Leo. I'm _that_ angry, okay?"

"Okay, I'll stop," Annabeth shows you her hands in surrender. "Anyway, what did you tell those guys, huh?"

"Just whatever," you wave it away. "It doesn't matter."

"You could've been with them, you know? My plan was to be alone at my cabin, and you're pretty much ruining the mood making me stay here at the beach. If what you want is for me to forget my boyfriend the son of the sea god, you're not doing a very good job."

You blush under the veil of darkness. The truth is Annabeth hasn't been as sad as you assured your friends. The truth is she didn't even want to be here alone — or here at all, really. The truth is you preferred spending tonight with her rather than with your boyfriend and your best friend.

"I'm worried about you, Annabeth. I thought I'd better stay with you."

"And I appreciate it, but…" Annabeth trails off. Her face contorts into that small frown and that sad smile. You see in her eyes the tears she refuses to spill. "I appreciate it." Her face then turns to stone again and she sighs, turning back to stare at the sea.

That's how much sadness she lets you see whenever you're together.

You'd like to say it's awful seeing her sad, but in the back of your mind you're always thinking just how romantic it is for her to be so sad. Besides, you can't say it's not a pretty sight. Annabeth is beautiful, and lately you haven't been able to not notice that. It sure is nicer seeing her smile, you tell yourself. Still, there's a certain beauty to her sadness. It feels deeper than any other emotion she expresses. Truer.

It makes you wish they would find this Percy Jackson, just to see if the love she professes him is as deep as that thorough sadness.

"Let's do something," you propose. "Let's not talk about your boyfriend for one night, okay? Tell me something about yourself."

"That's the problem, Piper." Annabeth sounds miserable, and that does make your heart ache. "All I _am_ has to do with Percy."

The statement settles in a tense silence. It is a silence charged with all of Annabeth's emotion, and all of your confusion. It makes the sky darker, and it muffles the sound of the sea to the point you can barely hear it.

If there's something you've noticed of Annabeth's tales is that all of them involve Percy Jackson in some way. Even when, right after their very first quest, having known each other for no longer than a month, Percy convinced Annabeth to give her dad a second chance. Now her father's college ring hangs from Annabeth's necklace as a reminder of both things — of how her father has made his second chance worthwhile and of how Percy has influenced her from the very beginning.

You try to put yourself in her place. It surprises you to realize you've never really tried it until now. You try to think of someone whose influence has followed you throughout your life. You think of your grandpa Tom, of all the Cherokee stories he ever told you. You think of your father and the way he's always sort of disregarded anything that appears to be mildly supernatural. You think of Leo and how he's become so close to you since your quest. Finally, you think of Jason, and of all the doubts you keep having, of how your relationship, much like your budding friendship with Leo, has developed as a result of the fantasy Hera planted in your mind.

You realize, sadly, that no one has ever been with you in a permanent way. Your father is probably the most permanent figure you've had, but you've underappreciated him in the same way he's underappreciated you. You've given too much importance to what you've interpreted as his rejection, without trying to understand the events that have led to his decisions concerning you from his perspective, After all, you've made every effort to earn your description as a kleptomaniac.

You blink when you realize that insight is one that Annabeth helped you have some day in the last week. Maybe she could be that permanent presence in your life, you think wildly.

Annabeth remains quiet for something like five minutes before you come out of your meditative stupor. She must be in one of her own, which, you guess, shouldn't be good for her sadness.

"So," you say, a little too loud to get her attention, "why don't _I_ tell you something about myself?"

She turns to you in a daze, her eyes unfocused and glassy. Could she be sleepy? How much has she slept lately? Days ago she mentioned she was having a hard time with her nightmares. Why hadn't you inquired further about that? Was that selfish?

You shake those thoughts out of your head. Overthinking them now wouldn't be the best idea.

"Go on," you urge instead. "Ask me something. Anything."

She chuckles uncertainly. You imagine she does it to gain time to think of a question. "I feel like we're playing Truth or Dare."

"Woah. Time-out. You play that in here?"

"Sure," Annabeth frowns. Your strategy's working so far — her tone is more amused than anything else. "What, you thought we teenaged demigods only have fun by stabbing each other?"

"I guess I did."

"Well," Annabeth concedes, "I must admit that in most Truth or Dare games we end up fighting with swords or testing our aiming skills with a bow."

"Figures." You nod. "But come on, Annabeth. Ask."

"Okay. Mmm. Oh, I know. Are you and Jason finally serious then?" Annabeth shifts next to you until she's hugging her knees to her chest.

"Oh," you blush in the darkness again. "You had to ask that." You hesitate. She waits patiently for you to continue. "Well," you begin doubtfully. "He and I… Yeah, I guess you could say we're serious now."

"That's great, Piper! I'm happy for you two." Annabeth's voice is hollow. Even though she says that, she doesn't sound very happy.

"You don't like him, do you?"

You can't see Annabeth, but you've spent enough time talking to her to guess she'd be biting her lip right about now. "It's not that I don't like him, Pipes. I just don't know if I can trust him."

"That's the same thing you said about me. Days ago."

"Days ago," Annabeth repeats emphatically. With the help of a dim ray of moonlight you can see she doesn't want to say something that makes you feel bad. There's a concentrated frown and pursed lips on her face. "What do you want me to say, Pipes. I really haven't talked to him a lot."

You purse your own lips, dissatisfied with yourself in some way. It annoys you that you're talking about your boyfriend.

If you were talking to someone else, or if you were alone at your cabin, just thinking of Jason would make you blush. It would make your mouth tingle with the memory of his lips, and your heart swell with the excitement that invades you every time he's around. But as you sit here with Annabeth, it only irritates you. For some reason, all you can think when his name escapes her mouth is of how he loves skulking on his own all the time, and of how you know he's lying whenever he says he can't remember a thing about the whereabouts of the Roman camp. No wonder Annabeth can't trust him.

You wonder if you should trust him, too.

A scowl contorts your expression in disgust for the shortest of seconds. Of course you should trust Jason. You trust him with your life. You know he's not going to betray you, or take you all the way to this famous Roman camp — wherever it may be — only to stab you in the back. You know he's probably protecting both his old home and Camp Half-Blood. He's a good guy and you're almost sure you love him. Almost.

There's still the way he's hesitant to express his feelings about the smallest things, and the fact that you're almost sure there's something he remembers of his past that made him recoil from your relationship at first.

Of course you trust him, you tell yourself, but you don't know how much you can stand him not telling you everything.

Out of the back of your head comes the voice that's been poisoning your thoughts with outrageous insinuations. You hate that voice. You hate how it sounds so similar to Leo's voice. But what you hate the most is that it knows exactly when to show up to confound you with its soothing volume and its convincing arguments.

 _But look at this chick right here_ , it says. _Look how honest she always is. And_ so _hot!_

Go away! you tell it.

"Is something wrong?" Annabeth asks. You were so distracted with your troubled thoughts you didn't realize you've been silent for a good long while now, frowning down at a broken charcoal as if you wanted the waves to take it away from you.

"Oh," you exclaim. "Wrong with what? We're fine, okay? There's no problems between me and Jason."

"I never said there were…"

Curse all the gods.

You struggle in silence to find a good enough excuse for your mistake. To cover up that little glimpse of the truth.

Annabeth's gray eyes narrow at you, shining almost white. They don't help you concentrate in any way.

Finally, after a couple of eternal minutes you come up with a terrible excuse. However, it's the best you got, and right now that's good enough.

"It's just I sometimes don't know if I should like him so much." You voice sounds awful. It's as if you were reading a very bad script while helping your father rehearse for one of his movies. "I mean, besides the whole fantasy thing Hera did, I've known him for, what, two weeks now? I'm not sure if it's normal—"

"That you like him so much," Annabeth completes, interrupting you. "I'm sorry," she says. But she doesn't sound sorry at all. She sounds excited. Relieved. As if some part of what you said was something she herself had been feeling for a very long time.

And her excitement is such, apparently, that she forgets you're supposed to be avoiding the topic of her boyfriend. "That's exactly how I feel about Percy!" she continues. Her eyes are distant even though she's looking at you. It makes you think she isn't even conscious of what she's saying or who she's talking to. "My gods! I miss him so much that sometimes I feel like I'm out of breath. So much that I can't sleep at night. But it doesn't make sense. It doesn't make sense I miss him so much because we've been dating for only four months. I don't even know if I love him, Piper, and yet I feel worse than when I ran away from home, or when Thalia died. So much of my friends died just last summer in the Titan War and I didn't feel as sad about any of them as I feel now. It doesn't make sense for me to miss Percy so much, Piper."

It surprises you that she says your name. It surprises you and it pleases you. You feel terrible about it, but you love the fact she's saying all this to you because she wants to, and not just because she's overwhelmed with emotion and can't help herself, as you had believed was the case.

The most disturbing thing is that when you turn to her and see the tears finally escape her eyes you feel your heart ache inside your chest. It hurts to see her like this, but it seems you can't get around the fact that she still looks beautiful, and that you're finally catching up with your own feelings. You're finally beginning to understand why you're so eager to see her every morning, and why you feel so irritated with Jason whenever you're with her even though you're so happy at any other time because you're now his girlfriend.

You open your arms instinctively, uselessly. Annabeth presses her face against your shoulder just as far ahead, far away, way back at that other crowded beach, people begins counting down.

You're glad Annabeth's heaving and whimpering so loud. Maybe that way she won't notice the screams of joy, or the fireworks that start exploding and illuminating the night sky. Maybe that way she won't think so much of what she could be doing were she with her Percy instead of with you. She's so sad already.

It doesn't help _you_ , however, to ignore the blush that colors your cheeks in the darkness, or the hesitant smile that spreads on your lips, sure that it'll go unnoticed. It doesn't help you ignore the swarm of butterflies that takes flight in your gut.


	5. V.

**V.**

"Okay, I'm all yours," Leo says.

"Sometimes I don't know what to say to her, Leo!"

You're standing deep inside Bunker 9. It's a place you have only ever seen from the catwalk above. It's much smaller seen from up close. It's a corner of the place, where a few tables are stacked up together so that it almost seems like an office. Leo uses it as a personal workshop for every small project he's working on simultaneously with the big ship.

You're that desperate, apparently. So desperate that you came to him for help.

"Well, Beauty Queen. I always thought we had that in common, you and I. We're not good with people."

You exhale exasperatedly. "Is that really all you can say to me, Leo?"

"Hm." He looks down at the floor, frowning, his hand rubbing his chin meditatively. You want him to say something profound and amazingly wise. But all he says is, "Yeah, I think that's it." And he looks down at his desk with every intention of going back to work.

"Leo!"

"Okay, okay." He drops the device he'd just picked up from the table. "But why is it such a big deal, anyway? Didn't you say you were friends? What's there to say to a friend? Really. I never tell you anything and we're still friends, right?"

"I know," you answer miserably. "But it's not the same. Her boyfriend's lost and that's all she ever thinks about. I thought I'd be able to... I don't know, keep her from thinking about him all that much but I'm not sure I can. She talks about him all the time, and whenever I finally get her to smile because of some silly joke, her smile's followed by this really grim expression."

You're only telling him half the truth, though. You leave out the part where you think that grim expression is beautiful even if it tears you up inside. You leave out the part where she told you she's doubting her feelings for Percy Jackson and the part where you think you're doubting your own feelings for Jason.

You leave out the part where you're starting to have feelings for her.

Because really. If he doesn't know how to respond to this, you can't imagine how much he'll freak out if you were to tell him all that.

Leo whistles appreciatively, as if letting you know he gets how serious the situation is. "I'm sorry, Pipes. I fix machines, not people."

You grunt. "I know." Sighing, you drop on a nearby stool. "I don't even know why I'm asking _you_ of all people…"

"Huh," Leo chuckles. Then he frowns. "Hey!"

Ignoring him, you continue. "The thing is, you're my only friend, Leo. Sort of. I can't go with Jason because I don't think he likes Annabeth. I can't go to my brothers or sisters because… well, because they're completely insensible — Oh, no, I love them. I do. But really."

"So, you had to come to Awesome Uncle Leo for help, huh?" he drawls mockingly, flexing his thin arms as if they weren't so thin.

"Okay, first of all, Uncle? Really? Second… Well, forget it. I guess you _can_ call yourself awesome, yeah," you nod, eyeing the half-finished hull that sits tall and long even in its incompleteness… Leo's masterpiece of a project. He smiles arrogantly, the expression looking completely alien on him. "Seriously now, Leo. What do you think I should do?"

"Try to keep Annabeth from thinking of her boyfriend," he says, very helpfully.

"Gee, I hadn't thought of that."

"Why is it so important, Piper? People's sad all over here. Everybody seems to miss Percy Jackson and you're okay with that. Annabeth's his girlfriend. Of _course_ she'll miss him. I was just talking to that guy, Malcolm, from her cabin. He told me the quests they're sending lately are pointless. Says they're only doing it for her. So that she doesn't lose it. Our only real clues are coming from your guy, and even those are kind of vague. Let her miss him, Piper. You're being selfish. The best we all can do, as Malcolm said, is keep her busy. Keep her distracted."

Selfish, you think. If he only knew how selfless you're trying to be.

This whole situation is almost funny. Here you are, pretending to need Leo's advice, when all you're doing is trying to keep your head clear from thoughts of Annabeth.

How did she put it? When a small spark falls on dry leaves and gets them to burn? Yeah, that's where you're at. Right at the middle of the fire.

A small thought crossed your head once, and it was as if you'd tried to light a match unsuccessfully, letting a small spark fly down to the ring of dry leaves that for some reason lay at your feet in this metaphysical reality inside your head. Now they're on fire. And you're feeling the flames lick your feet and scorch your clothes.

"What's really troubling you, Piper?"

You blink at him. He never pays attention to anyone when he's working. He even ignores Jason whenever the guy comes to visit him, and they're supposed to be huge pals. He eats his meals in here and has even spent a couple of nights in the bunk you're sitting on. Ever since your quest you don't think you've seen Leo interacting with people very much.

And yet, he's attentive to you and he's giving you advises. By Zeus, he's even seeing right through you now.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what, Pipes. You always stare at empty space that way when you're thinking, 'Oh, dude, if you knew what's my problem, you wouldn't answer my stupid fake questions'."

It takes you a second to answer because his impression of your inner voice sounded sort of like Soos from Gravity Falls. "Why do I sound like that?"

"You just do, Piper," he tells you solemnly.

You roll your eyes, focusing on the important part of his question: He seems to know there's more to your problem than what you're telling him. Maybe Leo and you really are best friends, if he gets so much of your state just by your expression.

With a sigh, you admit, "I don't know, Leo. This whole Annabeth thing has me very confused. I don't know how to feel about it because it makes me feel awful to see her so sad knowing there's really nothing I can do. And because it's so nice to see her when she looks remotely happy. And she's such a good friend, Leo. _Such_ a good friend. It's so nice talking to her. She listens to everything I say. And she's so smart. I keep thinking how easy it is talking to her in comparison with how hard it is sometimes talking to Jason…"

You sigh again and turn to Leo. His eyes are narrowed as he watches you suspiciously. A small smile adorns his expression. "So _that's_ your problem."

"What?"

He laughs loudly. "My _God_ , Piper — Or you know, by the _gods_ , or whatever, now that we're Greek. You have no idea, do you?"

"I have no idea what it is you're talking about."

"Oh, c'mon, Beauty Queen. Sure you do. I'm talking about you and Annabeth. You have a little thing going on for her, huh?" Leo looks at you the way you imagine your mother would if she knew what he's talking about. You can almost hear her voice. _Piper, you roguish seductress, you._ "Hey, don't look at me like that. I can only do so much. But I can't help being curious about how you ended up liking her."

"What are you talking about?" you exclaim, scandalized. "You're crazy, you've got it all wrong. It's not like that!"

But it is. And you know it.

You let him continue. "Really, Pipes. It's okay. It's none of my business. Just consider your boyfriend's quite the cold brick of marble. Oh, I'm sure he likes you a lot, but he's stiff. If you wanna blame anyone for your whims, blame him. By all means." He goes on saying stupid stuff like that and mumbling about how much he supports you. You ignore almost all that he says. Except for the one thing that makes you focus back on him. He says, "Just try to be nice about it all, Pipes. People can be selfish when they're suffering, and Annabeth's suffering a lot. Don't take it so personal if you end up hurt. After all, we have to travel all the way to Greece with her, and as the Supreme Captain of the Quest I won't allow disagreements or scowls on my ship."

You chuckle. "Supreme Captain of the Quest?"

"I'm still working on the title, but that's the whole idea."

You laugh at it. He starts telling you some story about how he once fell in love with a girl at a school somewhere and who knows what else. Soon you're laughing hysterically again and having a very good time. Almost all Leo says is intended to not be taken seriously, you know; and so, you laugh.

But those words stick with you and echo when you go back to the pavilion for dinner and see Annabeth waving at you. People can be selfish when they're suffering, Leo said. He knows about suffering more than you do, running away from a house where no one wanted him after his mom had died. And Annabeth's suffering a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Useless fact of the week — Juan Rulfo's 1955 novel Pedro Páramo is beautiful and an authentic cornerstone for Mexican literature. Supposedly, Gabriel García Márquez was inspired by it to write his One Hundred Years of Solitude, and could recite it all by memory. Rulfo wrote only two pretty short — but also pretty good — novels and a book of short stories, and yet he's one of the best Mexican writers to ever have lived (and my favorite one, by the way). I recommend whoever is alive to learn Spanish and read his works. They're really awesome.


	6. VI.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A word on the last chapter — ever since I wrote it — and even after I'd already posted it here — I'd been thinking about editing the part where Gravity Falls is mentioned because I thought mentioning it made the whole story sound slightly less serious than I wanted it... Then I read the second book of the Kane Chronicles and realized Mr. Riordan talked about a song by Adele the way someone writing fanfiction would've done it, and I felt better about that Gravity Falls issue.
> 
> I apologize if someone expected this chapter to be posted sooner. This is one of the few that I still had to work on after I finished writing this story back in January, and I had difficulties to find the time to do it... But anyway, here it is. It's pretty long, so that should make up for the delay.

**VI.**

Whoever says Aphrodite doesn't have a sense of humor, obviously hasn't ever been in love. They haven't heard the funny story of how Helena and Paris caused the fall of Troy, or of how Hercules killed his first family, only to die poisoned at the hands of his second wife. Anyway, if those few examples aren't good enough to prove how much sense of humor Aphrodite has, you think, maybe your own present situation can serve just as well, if not better.

Because not only does Aphrodite have infinite sense of humor — it is also a black, cruel and ironic sense of humor.

Those thoughts occur to you just as you walk out of your cabin one Sunday morning. The sun is shining dimly as it struggles to filter through the thick clouds that float beyond the boundaries of Camp. It's the first time you see a cloudy sky in here. Annabeth told you that usually Camp was snowy in the winter, that Chiron liked to allow a few snowstorms in so that it all could feel more Christmassy. This year, however, what with the Giant war and the global warming, there has been no snow and barely any clouds.

It makes the whole place look somber, grim. It makes you and everyone else more conscious of what's to come. Makes you nervous and anxious, way more than it does any other camper; because all those kids will spend the war scared, yeah, but here, while you'll have to travel all the way across the Atlantic and towards Greece, where you will most likely die.

You sigh, and on that happy thought, head down the stairs of your cabin.

Jason's waiting for you at the end of the staircase. "Piper," he greets.

Your stomach burns with giddiness.

"That looks great on you." He looks doubtful as he says it. Not uncomfortable, just awkward. Supposedly you're his first girlfriend — which is perfectly fine for you, since he's your first boyfriend as well. Because you're each other's first couples, though, you're never sure of what you say or do.

You look down at your faded yellow shirt and baggy jeans hesitantly. "Oh," you begin. You picked out the first things you could from your wardrobe. Literally the first ones. You thought they looked terrible with you wearing your hiking boots, but you were just too lazy to look for something else. "Thanks."

A couple of weeks ago, after your quest, you went to buy clothes with Jason, Leo, and, unfortunately for you, your half-sister Lacy. The seriously-hyperactive girl dragged you all over New York City, forcing you to try-out ugly clothes and to buy ridiculous outfits. What you have on today represents less than a quarter of that new wardrobe, but is, besides any combination that involves that black hoodie, your three other baggy jeans and a few other ugly shirts, the only outfit that you can see yourself wearing.

"I… um…" Jason scratches his neck, actually uncomfortable this time, before leaning into you and pecking your cheek.

You blush furiously. "Oh," you giggle nervously. "Thanks." You almost roll your eyes at yourself. "So," you continue, more confidently. "What's on today?"

He seems relieved you finally managed a complete sentence. "Sword-fighting. Spear-throwing. Wall-climbing, I think. And Bunker-9-exploring… or whatever."

"Mmm." You nod as if you were looking at a particularly good-looking dessert. "Sounds like fun."

"I know, right?" Jason doesn't seem to pick on your sarcasm.

Of course he doesn't, you think. He might not be obsessed with his physical training, but he sure enjoys it. And, in a way, so do you — _his_ physical training, that is. After all, it's not like he's developed that good shape you admire so much by laying around tanning.

"I hear you've done a lot of that lately, though," he continues tentatively, speaking like one who's hoping you'll tell him what he really wants to know.

"Sword-fighting, spear-throwing and wall-climbing?" you ask sarcastically. "Sure. What, am I not showing off my bulgy overdeveloped muscles?"

Jason chuckles at that. "Sure you do, Pipes," he says, reaching out to squeeze on your flaccid upper-arm. "Seriously now, I meant the Bunker-9-exploring."

"Oh, that." You try to suppress your blush. You're suddenly so nervous, though, that you can't tell whether you're successful or not.

Jason doesn't seem to notice that, either. He must've woken up today wanting to be totally oblivious.

"Leo mentioned you've been there a lot, yeah," he nods. "With Annabeth." His gaze turns curious.

Or maybe he just woke up in the mood of making questions that make you uncomfortable without heeding much else besides your answers.

"Oh, that" you giggle nervously, sounding nothing like yourself. "I mean, I've been, um, Bunker-9-exploring with her… sort of. She showed me this awesome spot on the catwalk, way above. You can see it all from there."

"Really."

"Really. She's, um… She's gotten a lot better, you know." You don't know why you say that. Maybe because if it was anyone else asking you, you'd imagine they'd want to know how she's doing. After all, you've been reinforcing the idea in Jason and Leo that Annabeth's been pretty depressed.

However, with just one look you know Jason's not very interested in her well-being.

"She's a very strong girl," he says almost indifferently. His expression is hard to read. You don't know if it's expressing curiosity, distrust or slight annoyance. Annoyance looks so alien in him, though, that you know he's having a hard time staying mad at whatever he's mad. The combination of micro-expressions looks almost like resentment.

You frown at him. "Something wrong?" Jason's reaction is one of simulated surprise. His eyebrows climb too high, his eyes widen far more than they would was his surprise authentic. "Jason," you stop him before he utters a useless lie.

You remember how whenever you speak of Annabeth — on the few occasions when you actually do it — his face always shows something similar to that resentment. You'd already suspected Annabeth wasn't Jason's favorite person, but it's not until now that you wonder if he really dislikes her.

"Do you have a problem with Annabeth?"

You would totally understand it if he did, you realize. Everybody at Camp seems to have warmed to Jason, treating him as if he was just like any other camper and not a potential Roman spy — all but Annabeth. She's still unsure of him. She's even told you about it. You haven't mentioned that to him, of course, nor do you plan on doing so any time soon.

Still, maybe Jason's noticed it himself. You don't think Annabeth tries very hard hiding her distrust for him.

His expression melts from resentment to concern so naturally, that you determine he must be about to tell the truth. He's a Roman, you remind yourself, the dudes must find it a duty to be sincere with the women they love.

"No, no. Of course I don't. I just don't like the way she's always looking at me. Like she expects me to turn on her any minute. I understand why she's like that. I think I would act the same if I was in her position. If someone came into my camp the way I did, I'm sure we already would've killed them, in fact…"

He rambles on for a few more seconds… then you realize nothing of what he's saying justifies his resentment — yet again, if that's what it is, to begin with.

Raising your hands, you stop him again. "That's all okay, Jason, but why don't you like her if you understand her so much?"

Giving up, Jason sighs deeply. "I like her okay… Really," he adds in response to your sceptic raised eyebrow. "It's just you're with her all the time these days…" He falters and looks away, his weight shifting from side to side awkwardly. He's blushing.

You blush hard also when your mind registers what he said. Holy Aphrodite, you think. Who would've thought Jason was _that_ kind of boyfriend.

Your first instinct is to be annoyed. Then you have a terrible insight: You _have_ been spending more time with Annabeth than with your boyfriend. Should that be wrong? you wonder. Maybe not.

You try looking at things from Jason's point of view. How you went on a quest with him just days after you'd discovered he wasn't your boyfriend. How you came back and in less than a week he and you became an actual couple. Then how a couple of weeks have followed those events; weeks in which you've accompanied Annabeth and ignored Jason.

Embarrassment is your second instinct. It _is_ wrong, you realize. Not being with Annabeth — ignoring Jason is what is wrong.

Shamefully, you realize it's your fault that Jason resents Annabeth. He probably likes her okay, as he claims. It's your preferring her over him that makes him resent her.

If you could blush any harder, you would.

The air around you becomes heavy and hot. There's nowhere safe to stare at — not the sword-fighting arena, peeking through the spaces between cabins; not the sea over the far-away woods; not the Big House, standing at attention far to your left. Much less Jason's face right in front of you, but it's on it that you know your focus must remain.

Jason seems to sense your hesitance, discomfort, embarrassment and whatever other thing that's keeping you from even as much as apologizing to him. His curiosity falls and now it's his turn to look uncomfortable — though you don't understand why would he look like that.

"I'm sorry," he begins, his eyes full of shame. "It's not right to be that selfish. I'm sorry. It's okay that you wanna help her, and I shouldn't complain about it."

You thought you couldn't blush harder? Well, you were _wrong_.

So much blood flows to your face that you can almost feel the pressure build up in the veins that climb up your neck; your hands start feeling numb, as if coloring your face had become a priority to your pumping heart over allowing your limbs to be functional. You feel light-headed all of a sudden.

Jason thinks it's him that's wrong. He probably interpreted your hesitation as anger, confounded it for annoyance at his almost-jealousy. He's such a nice kid — _such_ a nice kid —, that he's even apologizing for being selfish.

And he _is_ being selfish, some part of you whispers in your mind, but that doesn't mean his selfishness isn't justified this time.

Still, no matter how bad you're feeling for him, and how wrong it probably is to let him think it's not his place to complain about who you decide to spend your time with, you can't deal with this right now. Correcting him and telling him you're sorry for spending so much time with Annabeth, you think, would bring the conversation dangerously close to the reasons why you want to spend so much time with her in the first place, and that's a conversation you're not willing to have right now. Not with him, anyway.

That's a conversation you'd rather have with yourself before letting anyone else into it. That's mostly because it would imply a whirlwind of emotions and confused feelings and immersive thoughts that you think would have the capacity of making you go crazy. It would be rude to force anyone into that experience, even your boyfriend.

So, with that in mind, you wave your hand dismissively in front of you. "It doesn't matter. Anyway," you add, making the mistake of allowing your tricky mind to formulate a response all by itself, "I'll have time to spare to be with you after today…" you say — which basically results in you having to push down a thousand of new troubled thoughts that arise at your words. That's a whole other problem, and not one you'd like to deal with in front of Jason.

But, as you've come to notice today more than ever, Jason is not a particularly perceptive guy. He doesn't see the warning in your eyes, the pleading tone in your voice.

He comments on it.

"Oh, yeah. I heard Annabeth's leaving today."

"Yeah." You turn your head to the side, rolling your eyes when he's not looking. "Back to school."

"Crazy she's going to study with all that's going on, huh?"

It's his tone what finally helps you fight down all those troubled thoughts — it makes you chuckle half involuntarily. His voice, just as his posture, has become totally awkward as he tries to sound enthusiastic with the new route the conversation's taking. He obviously wants you to forget the last five minutes ever happened by being tolerant and even sort of supporting when talking about anything that has to do with Annabeth.

You decide you'll follow his lead and rewind something like ten minutes into the past, as if he'd just greeted you, by saying, "She said it would help her forget it all for a while," while trying to be nonchalant. "I can't imagine how, to be honest," you continue, "since she'll be coming to help Leo every other weekend."

"Wanna go see him, by the way? The sword-fighting thing won't start for at least an hour," Jason nods tentatively. Obviously, he's anxious to escape this terrible episode in any way possible.

You imagine the voice of your mother echoing all the way from Olympus. Laughing.

"Sure," you yield. "Why not."

...

By the time you arrive at Bunker 9, all the will you had to speak to your boyfriend — which wasn't really much after your last conversation — is overshadowed by your thirst and your need of rest. Sword-fighting will have to be some other day, you tell yourself.

You spot Leo at his usual corner and call out to him.

He raises his head, a crazy, wide-eyed smile on his face, and runs your way, avoiding worktables and unaware demigods everywhere. "You guys! You gotta come see this!" he shouts. In his hands he appears to be holding something. However, as you try to put a name to the device, it explodes. The cloud of smoke that results smells like burned plastic and scorched hair. "Oh, man. I was just trying to decipher what it did." He looks up at the ceiling, and talks as if to his dad. "Dude, next time you save my life at least tell me what's gonna kill me."

He walks with slumped shoulders until he stands next to you. "What was it?" you ask him after he and Jason exchange a halfhearted high-five.

"No idea." He sighs. "Some micro-nuclear reactor, for all I know. My dad vanishes stuff sometimes, whenever they're too dangerous for me."

"Oh," you nod your head. It's good someone does stuff like that, you think, because otherwise the camp would have stopped existing already, along with New York and maybe half the country, considering the sort of substances Leo handles around here. "Good!"

"Sure it is," Leo agrees. "He's sort of a douche, though, always trampling over my stuff, leaving no trace. I bet he takes it to his workshops to steal my awesome ideas."

As if in response, a piece of some broken device falls from above, almost hitting Leo. He, with his quick-as-Internet-Explorer reflexes, dodges to the side when the shapeless ball of metal has been in the floor for well over a second.

"Okay, sorry!" he shouts, sounding frightened. He turns to you. "Gods! You'd think we're making this ship for recreational purposes and not to save Olympus, the gods and all Western Civilization."

"So," Jason says, amused, "exactly what part of the warship was that thing that just exploded?"

"The point is," Leo ignores the question, "it would be nice of him to give us a hand sometimes instead of just blowing up stuff whenever he feels like it."

"Watch out!" warns Jason.

Leo dodges again just as another chunk of metal falls through the space his face was occupying. "Okay, okay, enough of the god-talk, then!"

He waves you in excitedly. Jason follows him, nodding distractedly at all the descriptions Leo gives him of the big pieces of machinery that lay around being worked on by his siblings. You, however, remain where you are, waiting for them to be far enough.

You're looking up at the ceiling. Or, at least, up at what you can glimpse of it through the light. Your eyes run all over the canopy of lightbulbs until you spot a dark shape moving, following the movements Leo and Jason make and throwing another couple of deadly objects at them.

Smirking, you head for the metallic stairs that stand at a corner and climb onto the catwalk. And sure enough, there she is — Annabeth Chase, leaning over the rail and holding two big broken machines in her hands. Looking as happy as you've never seen her and as beautiful as ever.

"You look way different than I had imagined, Lord Hephaestus," you say when you're close enough. "I have to say, I always thought you were a guy…"

Without looking at you, Annabeth answers, her voice grave and raspy. "Why, you're in for a surprise, then, young lady. For it is I, Hephaestus God, Patron of Mechanics and Maker of Automatic Transmission Fluid. Behold the sight of me and despair."

You laugh. "Is that his voice, or what's going on with you?"

Turning her head your way, Annabeth shrugs. "Can't remember. The time I met him he gifted me a spider automaton. My mind probably erased all trace of his voice or appearance out of hate."

"To his favor, no one who knew half your tales would imagine spiders scare you."

"Shh!" Annabeth hisses suddenly. With perfect aim, she throws one of her deadly projectiles.

"Dude! Stop that!" Leo screams below you, his eyes peeking from behind Jason's shoulders. Smirking, Annabeth makes a last throw.

Leo cries a last time and hides under a table.

But Annabeth doesn't make another attempt. She chuckles silently, shaking her head and walking over to you.

You barely notice that. You notice instead her wide smirk, her sparkling eyes. Her hair's in a bun once more. You see the tank top she's wearing today is red, and that, together with her blue jeans, she's looking quite colorful.

It isn't until she's standing directly in front of you that you remember people's supposed to answer when they're asked a question, and you think you heard vaguely Annabeth's voice asking you something. The expectant expression she wears confirms your suspicions.

"Uh…" you mumble intelligently. "Sorry, what?" A blush spreads on your cheeks the moment you say it. You'd been staring — not at her face, no. Worse. She caught you staring at her body. You blush harder. "So," you try nervously when it becomes obvious Annabeth won't repeat her question. "What's up?"

Annabeth rises an eyebrow at you. She must think you're insane. "I was just bullying Leo. What's up with _you_?"

The air is thick with awkwardness.

"You know," you say, knowing well she knows nothing about what's up with you; knowing well not even _you_ know what's going on with you. "Just hanging with Jason."

Annabeth nods, a curious frown still on her forehead.

It's not the first time Annabeth's close to discovering what's happening. You've spent a lot of time lately staring at her when you think she's not watching. Unfortunately, though, you're not good at disguising your stalking eyes, which has resulted in Annabeth catching you staring more than once. She suspects something, you can tell. She's pretty smart, as you well know, she must know something's going on.

This difficult situation is playing with your feelings, affecting your mind and, in all honestly, it's annoying you a lot. The matter concerning the feelings you're starting to feel for Annabeth is simply disturbing. What is it, you wonder. A crush? Are you falling for her? Could it be some sort of superhuman-empathy skill given to all the children of Aphrodite that no one warned you about and that makes your own feelings as intense as Annabeth's are as of late? You're afraid to label it. It would make it real. So far, you've been trying to convince yourself what you're feeling is nothing serious. That it is simply some sort of confusion caused by Annabeth's beauty and the suddenness of your friendship.

But for some reason you're not sure. And the little Leo that talks to you in the most unfortunate of times keeps messing with your head. It repeats that first thought you had weeks ago. _With all the time you're spending with her,_ he — Jason — _should be afraid you fall for her instead of him. You fall for her instead of him. You fall for her…_ And it keeps whispering those words your mother uttered, and that were so comforting back in December; and that are now so terrible. _You see possibilities much more vividly than others_ , she said. _You see what_ could _be._

The problem is, you know, that what _could_ be with Annabeth scares you half to death.

Annabeth keeps her eyes narrowed for a while, just watching you. You decide to ignore it as much as you can, and to pretend there's nothing wrong with the way she's looking at you, so as to not let her see that you're hiding something.

"You do this a lot, then?" you ask, after what feels like an hour. An hour during which you tried to think of something to say.

"Being up here? Sure. With you."

"Not that, silly." You try to talk to her as you use to, try to pretend the moment you want to leave behind you is not still happening. "Bully Leo, I mean."

Annabeth's eyes are still suspicious of your fake amused smile. Nonetheless, she takes the bait and answers good-naturedly, even releasing a laugh. "Only when you're not around… Since he's your best friend… I guessed you wouldn't like it a lot."

"Well, he's sort of like a little brother to me." You throw her a mischievous smirk. "All the more reason to bully him."

Annabeth smiles, nodding comprehendingly.

"How do you explode his stuff, though?" You're genuinely curious about that one thing.

"Oh, I don't. My guess is he's right — it _is_ his dad who does it. Trying to protect humanity from his offspring, I imagine. There's times gods actually help their kids that way…"

Annabeth starts telling you of how Percy Jackson's brother, a Cyclops named Tyson — you can't imagine that —, used to say his dad, Poseidon, had helped him find Percy, sending him to the same school Percy attended at the time. After that she began explaining how this Tyson had been vital for their quest to get the Golden Fleece from the Sea of Monsters. She goes on telling you of some island they found with lots of sirens and then remembers that before that happened they had found Circe's island, where the tale you like so much of Annabeth being beautified and Percy being turned into a rodent occurred. You hear it once more.

Before you know it, you've drifted into a contemplative state as you listen to her.

You were right — she is in a good mood.

You notice for the first time how her lips sort of curve upwards when she's happy. Even when she's talking she's smiling, which you think resembles the way Leo can also hold that psychotic, hyperactive smile of his even when he's describing to you how his devices sometimes explode. Every time she laughs her eyes wrinkle at the corners. She moves her hands a lot, especially when the moment that's going on in her story is particularly intense. It helps you focus your attention on her. Though, it's not as if you needed any sort of help to focus on her. Being up here, in the darkness, with no one but her… it kinda makes it hard not to want to look at her all the time.

Annabeth is about to tell you how she noticed that the particular guinea pig that ended up being Percy looked sort of humanoid when stops to ask, "Hey, is someone calling your name?"

And it's until she says it that you remember you had come here with Jason. That you had come here to be with your boyfriend and talk to Leo, not to be with Annabeth.

You blush, glad that the darkness won't let her see it.

"Oh, right," you say stupidly. "It's Jason. Must be looking for me."

"I would probably think so," Annabeth chuckles.

"Well, I guess I should…" You can't get the _go with him_ out.

But, as it turns out, you don't need to: "Oh, don't worry about it," Annabeth waves it away. "I was just about to leave, actually." You feel flattered she sounds so pained for having to leave you. With her head she motions for the gates of Bunker 9. "Gotta teach some kids to use their swords."

She laughs hysterically for a moment at the unintended double meaning.

"Anyway." She turns to you as she walks toward the staircase. "Remember I'm leaving today, Pipes." You nod. Right, you think. Remember. Because of course I haven't been thinking about it all day… As if. "Come meet me at Half-Blood Hill later, okay? I'll be waiting."

You blink as you see her climb down the stairs and disappear beyond the gates.

...

You sleep for the rest of the day — at least, it feels like you're sleeping. You remember joining Jason and Leo minutes after Annabeth leaves, but nothing really happens that you consider remarkable enough to require your attention. Leo and Jason discuss about how cool it is to blow up deadly stuff, though Jason seems rather reluctant to agree with Leo in matters that concern using Greek fire grenades as a hacky-sack. For some reason, you don't care at all.

Eventually, Jason leaves. He's anxious to try this wicked-looking spear he'd discovered the other day in the armory, he tells you. He thinks it would give him better aim when he summoned lightning.

You nod distractedly, not interested.

You must be better at pretending when you're not really trying, you think at some point, because neither Jason as he leaves or Leo as you totally ignore him when your boyfriend is gone seem to notice how deep in thought you are. You stay a very long while staring down at the sweaty Hephaestus kids carry on with their separate tasks from the catwalk.

Finally, at around what you assume must be five or six o'clock in the afternoon, you go out of Bunker 9 and head for Camp. For Half-Blood Hill.

You don't know if it's too late or too early to go. You don't remember if Annabeth ever told you at what time she'd be leaving, so you think it'll be alright.

The sun must have defeated the clouds at some point of the day, since its rays now fall warmly on you wherever the trees don't stop them before they touch the ground. As usual, the air in the woods is thick and moist, hard to get into your lungs; and it is cold, too. You wonder if it's just that you're warm what makes the air feel so heavy. Just that you're warm since Annabeth left you, you think.

Though the truth could be simpler — you're just warm because you're walking too fast. Even running at times. Anxious to get to Half-Blood Hill even when you just told yourself you didn't mind the time. In a hurry because, without even realizing it, you crave to see Annabeth once more before she leaves. The thought of not seeing her on a daily basis in the immediate future still seems unreal.

It's like with Jason and his Roman camp, you think, and the fact that after you save the world — you've made it a point to think of such a thing as something that you _will_ achieve and not something that you just _could_ achieve — he might end up staying there while you stay here.

It makes you blink in astonishment, that thought. Lately you've been so busy thinking of Annabeth, and hanging out with her, and trying to get rid of the feelings you have for her and that you're sure aren't real, that you haven't been the best of girlfriends. To put it in a nice way, you've neglected Jason — and that's not nice at all.

And just now, as you get a brief glimpse at the rear wall of the stables beyond the trees, you realize how little time you've spent with him in the last couple of weeks. You see Jason's expression once again, that half-hurt, half-sad, half-resented face… and you feel so bad you don't even care if it's absurd for his expression to have had three different halves. But, however bad you feel, you can't care right now. Doesn't matter right now, you think, I'll apologize later. Right now, what you think about is how similar Annabeth leaving could be to Jason leaving.

And again you blush for putting them together for such a comparison.

But you can't help yourself. Your mother is right. You see possibilities even when you don't want them to exist, but their potential goes beyond what you could wish for. It doesn't matter how inappropriate it would be for you to try something with Annabeth, your nature simply urges you to try it. And you don't know why — it could be because you feel like it could help her, because it could help you, because it is simply meant to be, or because your mother just wanted to have a little fun and decided you would look good with Annabeth. You don't know.

And ultimately, it doesn't matter.

Your attraction for Annabeth at this point is not only undeniable, it is almost palpable, and you're pretty sure Annabeth's noticed it. After all, she _is_ pretty smart.

Curse all the gods. Your mother before any other.

You can almost hear her laugh.

When you arrive at the top of Half-Blood Hill your eyes are pulled as if by instinct to the place where you somehow knew Annabeth would be sitting, at the base of Thalia's tree. She's reading a book on architecture. You see there several pictures of different kinds of pillars before she closes it.

When she looks up at you, your heart does a couple of crazy backflips and the flock of butterflies that now seem to live inside your stomach turns into a team of somersaulting cheerleaders.

"And there she is!" She stands up. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me."

"Forgotten," you repeat, laughing rigidly. "Right."

You can't help yourself. You try to be discreet when you look down at her clothes again, but when you look back into her eyes she's lifting an eyebrow at you.

"You're quite colorful today," you say, attempting to excuse your behavior.

"What? Oh. Right. I just picked it up…"

A beat.

It gets longer and longer as she gazes curiously at you.

For some reason, all you can think about is how you're never standing up when you're together. She's much taller than you, by female standards. You're used to being shorter than girls, but Annabeth's almost a head taller than you. You have to tip your chin up to look her in the eye, which, you think, is actually kind of sexy…

Okay, stop it, you mentally scold yourself.

"So," you say when you feel like you can't bear any more silence. "Is there something you wanted to tell me?"

Annabeth waits another minute or so, considering you. Suddenly she asks you something that makes you blush all the way to your neck, or to your collarbone — or to your feet, for all you know. It's a question you've been dreading to answer even to yourself, and that makes you lose all senses. Suddenly you're floating in mid-air, dropping weightlessly from the back of Festus, hoping Jason can catch you before you fall to your death.

"Do you have a crush on me, Piper?" Annabeth asks.

For a long minute you're stunned, petrified. You don't move even a finger. Gods! maybe not even your lungs move to fill up with air. Your heart sounds as if still… then you realize it _is_ beating, but it's doing it so fast that it sounds like one monotonous hum.

"Wha—what?" you finally manage, your voice weak.

"Yeah, you know," Annabeth confirms, as if she was asking the simplest of questions. She eyes you and there's a colorful glint in her eye, one you haven't seen before. "It's just… You give me all these weird looks. I thought maybe…"

She kicks the grass uncomfortable, not meeting your eyes anymore.

In a way, you think, you should've guessed something like this was gonna happen. Annabeth and you have been very close for the last few weeks. She's noticed you've been acting weird around her. And, based on what she's told you of herself, she's not a girl who enjoys being in the dark about something for long. She's a daughter of Athena, for Aphrodite's sake, of course she'd be curious about what's going on.

And in a way, probably, you had already thought this was going to happen. You probably banished the thought when it came, though, in order to pretend there was nothing weird going on between you and Annabeth — or, in any case, with you alone.

Annabeth has put a name to what troubles you, you realize. She's done exactly what you've been afraid to do yourself. A crush, then? You glance at her, at how she's twisting her arm behind her back, her head low. At how there's still an expectant glint in her eyes. And at how, even when she looks as uncomfortable as she does, she still towers over you, her posture tall and beautiful, full of involuntary confidence, natural confidence.

A crush it is, then, you think.

"Maybe a little bit."

Her head turns to you so quickly you're afraid she'll get whiplash. "What?" she asks you. Now she's the stunned one.

But you've already thrown all cautions out a metaphorical window, you've sent them down Half-Blood Hill so that they find someone that might care for them. Because you don't anymore.

"A crush," you explain. "I'm crushing on you… slightly." Your voice is so firm no one would think you were so scared a moment ago.

"O-oh!" Annabeth manages. "Wow… I… Um. I thought you did."

"And?" you question. "Is it bad. Do you hate me?" You waver by the end, already scared of what she might answer.

However, her answer's just one look. One look so full of something you couldn't expect that it stuns you again. You can't even name it, and are afraid to do so. So you don't.

You just add, in a weak voice, "Or… do _you_ have a crush on me?"

And with that sentence the world goes quiet. You can't hear the satyrs playing the pipes to make the strawberry grow, nor the Apollo kids bragging about their immense abilities for basketball. You can only hear your heart beating in your chest and Annabeth's quiet breathing in front of you. A sigh escapes her mouth and lands on your face…

For Annabeth has taken a step forward. When she did it, you have no idea. All you know is that she's now inches away.

Your face grows warm, colored by a heavy blush, no doubt. Your heart races in your chest, and you're struggling to keep your nervousness at bay. You don't want heavy breathing to ruin whatever this is.

It appears Annabeth has gotten rid of her worries as well, because when you look up at her face she's smirking, though rather shyly.

"I'm leaving. Argus has been ready to go for hours." She points out at the road, where a random car is waiting. A heavily-eyed dude leans on the hood. "Anyway," she continues. "Thank you for coming up here." She then kisses your cheek, and you feel the team of stomach-cheerleaders do a simultaneous mortal backflip along with some other pirouettes. "Come visit me next week," she adds as she turns away to head downhill. "I… erm… We'll talk."

And with that, she runs away, leaving you blushing, hyperventilating, and with a seriously accelerated heartrate. Seriously, though, it's so fast you're afraid you'll die so young as a victim of a stroke. Your eyes are firmly set on the ground. You're only able to gaze away when the sound of a door closing flies up to you. And you look up to see Annabeth waving at you through the open window as Argus speeds away.

And then she's gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Useless fact of the week — I don't give a f**k about anyone but myself.
> 
> Second useless fact of the week — Back when Mr. Charles Dickens was alive, lots of novels and books were published chapter by chapter, one every month, in journals or newspapers or whatever. So now you know. If you ever feel like hating fanfiction writers for delaying in their updates, just remember Victorian people sometimes had to wait way longer than you people do.


	7. VII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Alright. I'm psyched up. I've got blood up to my elbows, veins in my teeth and my helmet and kneepads securely fastened. Let's get out there and make trouble..."
> 
> Since I'm pretty sure no one will know where this is from, and I'm also fairly certain almost no one's reading my story, I'll offer what follows: if someone is capable of telling me what that previous text is from, I'll publish the next chapter sooner than I intend to do it. (Seriously. I'll even sacrifice my homework if that happens.)

**VII.**

"Okay," Jason whispers after you reach the bottom of the staircase. "Close your eyes."

"Um. Wha-ah, why do you want me to close my eyes?" you manage through a yawn.

"I got a surprise for you, Pipes."

"Ugh. I hate surprises," you grumble. Your eyelids fight to stay closed. "Seriously. I'm not good at guessing and I'm always trying to guess."

"Don't worry, there won't be enough time for you to guess." Jason shoots you one of those smiles that make your cheeks turn red. "Come on. Close them."

You obediently comply.

His arms circle your waist as you feel currents of wind around you. Suddenly, you're floating on thin air. Your eyes close tightly, out of fear this time.

"J-Jason! You may not have noticed this the few times we've flown, but I _really_ prefer being on the ground!"

You feel his chest vibrating when he chuckles at that. "Calm down. We're almost there." And sure enough — right after he says it, your feet land. "Keep them closed. Are they closed?"

"Yes, Jason. My eyes are closed." You roll them under their lids.

The surface beneath your feet feels irregular and it's sloped downwards. Jason lets go of your waist. You hear him shuffling to your right. Gushes of wind make your hair dance around your face. Your loose pajama pants and shirt fly to the beat of the silent night. You guess by the fresh breeze that you're somewhere aboveground.

"It's kind of cold, isn't it?"

"What?" He sounds distracted. "Oh, right." Soon he wraps a blanket around you. "Better? Okay… You can look now."

You fall back on your butt the moment you obey. Because, though you've never been particularly afraid of heights, you'd pay money to see anyone who suddenly found themselves four stories higher than the moment before not feel at least a little vertigo.

"Gods!" you exclaim. "Thanks for giving me another reason to hate surprises."

Jason just chuckles.

In a matter of minutes, though, you calm down enough to reconsider your current location and realize how beautiful it is.

Jason has brought you to the rooftop of the Big House. To your right, beyond where he's sitting, there's a blanket and — bizarrely enough — a basket which you assume is filled with sandwiches and fruits. You hope Jason brought a couple of freezing-cold Cokes also, for you're starting to feel feverish even in the fresh night just out of embarrassment.

In front of you, four stories lower, Camp Half-Blood is spread in all its permanent-summer-camp glory. The creek runs all its length and into the sea, the water glittering in the moonlight. You see the strawberry fields, the stables, the forge, the armory and the endless darkness of the woods to your left. Straight ahead there's the arena and the dinning pavilion beyond the cabins; Hestia's Heart, inside the circle contoured by small buildings, burns so brightly that you can distinguish its color even from this distance. The canoe lake, the volleyball courts and the amphitheater stand at the foot of Thalia's hill, to your right; and even this late at night, there's still some hot-red lava trailing down the climbing wall, shining bright against the dark horizon. Beyond all that, the sea dances its eternal calming dance, the waves reflecting the light so beautifully that you can't even tell where the sea ends and the stars begin.

Because there's stars in the sky tonight. Oh, and what a sky. There's so much stars in it, that you're almost sure it's not natural. Some sort of magic must be at work within the boundaries of camp to make the sky this clear, the stars this close. It's so unreal that you can almost see them moving whenever you blink, raining on you and spreading its light throughout your world.

The place rings a bell in your memory.

You think of when you rode on Festus on your way to Canada. Of Jason's arms around you as you fell back on his chest, asleep. Of flying out of the Grand Canyon having just met him. And you remember watching the night sky as you lay on a rooftop, and kissing him under the shooting stars.

"This place," you say. "It reminds me of…" Then you remember it was all an illusion, a trick of the Mist to manipulate your thoughts. "Forget it. It's nothing."

Jason sits next to you. "Our first kiss?" You stare at him, dumbfounded, beginning to ask how he knows that when he admits, "Leo told me… I think. Or did you?" He shakes his head. "It's funny. Now that a lot of things are coming back, it's getting sort of hard remembering the recent stuff. Our quest and Christmas and New Year… It's all sort of fuzzy."

His face contorts in the suffering expression that you hate.

Trying to bring back his smile, or to at least wipe that painful frown off his face, you pull him towards you and give him a kiss.

You've gotten a lot better in the past couple of weeks — which shouldn't be possible, in fact, since you haven't been spending a lot of time together. But this one kiss is better than better. It's actually great. There's no awkwardness. Your hand lays on his cheek and you're leaning onto him, but he stays immobile. It makes it easier for you, not feeling his touch. If he were to touch your cheek or grab your hand or circle your waist, your heart would start racing and your breath would become ragged.

But he stays still and lets you kiss him. And it all turns out to be the way you've always thought it should be.

When you break apart, Jason is looking quite sleepily at you. "Wow," he sighs.

It's now your turn to chuckle.

You fall on your back, relaxing your body as much as you can on the irregular surface of the roof. "So. Is this like a date?"

Jason blinks before responding. "Yeah. Yeah, I had hoped it would be." He shrugs, placing his elbows on his knees and giving you half his back and half his profile. "It's the best we can do here at Camp. Not a lot of romantic places…"

It crosses your mind how strange it is of Jason to bring you out here in the middle of the night, even when never before have you seen him voluntarily breaking the rules. That's a Roman characteristic, someone had told you. Annabeth, maybe. Though you doubt it was her — you can't imagine forgetting something she's told you. Maybe Malcolm. Or one of Leo's brothers. It doesn't matter who, really, because the thought just passes through and leaves out the back door.

You're still thinking of your first kiss, that first time, as you stared up at the sky in silence. It sometimes is hard to remember that that didn't actually happen. And it's awful, because you think of it almost every time you see Jason. And every time he's ever kissed you, you've thought of it. But it's not real.

 _The power of ideas_ , Little Leo whispers to you. And it astonishes you to hear him now, while you're with Jason. He always shows up when you're with Annabeth, or when you think of her. But right now, for some reason, she's giving you some peace and calm so that you can enjoy your time with Jason. She's respectfully hiding in the darkest corner of your mind.

But Little Leo effectively ignites an idea you probably had some time ago. Puts you to think of how one simple idea that repeated itself every chance it got has made you believe you're attracted to Annabeth.

Woah, wait! you think. Made me _believe_? As in, I'm not attracted to her, I just _think_ I am?

You think of Annabeth, and of how she's doubting her feelings for Percy. How because of one simple idea she's figured that what she feels for him makes no sense. The power of ideas.

Your head's starting to hurt.

But then again, you keep on thinking. How is that idea of hers different than the one I had about Jason and I being meant for each other just because of the memories Hera implanted in our — _my_ head?

"Hey, Jason?" you whisper hesitantly after a long beat.

"Mm?"

"Why do you like me?"

"What?" When he looks at you, you see he's clearly confused. As if he couldn't think of a reason why he wouldn't like you. You smile at that. "What do you mean why? You're great, Piper. How could I _not_ like you?"

"I mean…" you falter. You've kept most of your doubts to yourself, but there's a feeling in your gut telling you you should voice them now. He's your boyfriend. You trusted him with your life when you were on your quest, how could you not trust him with helping you overcome these troubled ideas? "Are we a couple because we like each other, or only because Hera made us believe we did? Or made _me_ believe, in any case…"

The look he gives you is full of uncertainty. Could she be the one that doesn't like me? he seems to be thinking.

"Um…" You wince at his bemused expression. "Can we pretend I didn't say anything?"

He blinks a couple of times and looks away before responding. "Don't worry, Pipes. It's not like I haven't asked myself that."

The air stills. And it's as if it's run out — out of your lungs, out of the sky.

"But the more I think about it, the better it feels. I like you because you're so nice to Leo, for example. So accepting of his… you know," he nods your way suggestively. "I like that you're always so ready to accept how others are, and how you're always trying to help them. Look at you and Annabeth, I mean…" You blush slightly when he mentions her. If you only knew, you think. "She's so sad and you've been so supporting. That's another thing, too. You're just so fun. Ask her why she likes your company and she'll tell you as much. Seriously, Pipes, why would I _not_ like you?"

He gazes at you again and he's looking so sure of himself, so convinced that what he said was all true; so confident and handsome that you can't suppress the urge to take his face in your hands and kiss him once more.

You're so grateful for his beautiful words, and for his eyes that are, oh, _so_ in love with you. But you're more grateful because you believe what he's told you. You believe that you're now a couple not only because you two felt compelled to it, but because he felt compelled to you. Just as you feel compelled to him.

You've been so focused in your own Annabeth-related problems ad in how much in love you are with Jason, that you've failed to notice just how hard he's fallen for you. So hard, indeed, that it's been clear as daylight in his eyes all tonight and the last week, and that is loud as the machinery inside Bunker 9 in the way his kiss is soft and his breathing heavy.

And as you feel one of his arms around your waist as the other circles your shoulders; and as you fiddle with the hem of his shirt, not knowing where else to put your hand, but still feeling that's the right place for it to be, while with your other hand you trace the curve of his cheek even though its shape is already well stored in your memory; and as your eyes close of their own free will to show a starry sky even inside the dark surface of your eyelids, you know that Jason is not at all like Annabeth.

You know that your relationship with Jason isn't merely based in a memory that never actually occurred. It's not based in an idea. It's based in a feeling.

A feeling that, right at this moment, feels like the most intense thing you've ever felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Useless fact of the week — It's not a fact, really. More like a recommendation. Read Watchmen. Yes, the graphic novel. Seriously. It's so good you won't believe it. In fact, if you've ever seen the movie, find a wand and obliviate yourselves; if you haven't seen it, wait until you read the graphic novel to see it.
> 
> Actual useless fact of the week — the writer of Watchmen, Alan Moore, was also the writer for V for Vendetta, and for a certain thing called The Killing Joke, which is a fantastic 64-page comic. Written in 1988, it tells the most popular (and in my opinion the best) version of how the Joker was born. You guessed it right — it is a Batman comic. Lucky for everybody, Moore is so good, that you don't need to know a lot about either Batman or the Joker to like this particular number.
> 
> Believe it — Alan Moore is probably the best graphic novel writer of all time. Followed closely by Frank Miller and maybe Neil Gaiman. Get into them and you won't want to leave.


	8. VIII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'll admit that the fact that someone actually guessed it right (not totally right, but more on that later) was more flattering than it was surprising. And looking back on it, I probably should've thought it better when I decided to make the offer that has me publishing this chapter today, (SPOILER ALERT) for this chapter is, in fact, quite an important one.
> 
> Go on and enjoy it, you.

**VIII.  
**

The first time Annabeth and you kiss, it is one-hundred-percent awkward, totally unlooked-for and completely and utterly embarrassing. Afterward, you will blush at the memory of how awful it was.

But at the time, in all honesty, you're pretty satisfied with how it occurs.

You're sitting down on her bed. Staring at her boldly as she drops your little bag and tries to be inconspicuous about all the mess of books and scraped notes that lay around her dorm room. The idea invades you suddenly and for some reason you imagine it to be romantic — which, as it turns out, is anything but.

You stand up automatically before you can change your mind and walk until you're standing behind her. When she turns, you lean into her to kiss her cheek. You could've warned her, though. That probably would've been a smart idea. However, you're not smart. You're a daughter of Aphrodite who has a crush on a girl you met not a month ago. You're not one for thinking — or for caring, really — about smart ideas.

So, the moment she turns, you lean in to kiss her cheek, not imagining she would react in some sort of a way the moment she saw you standing right next to her. And she does react — she tries leaning away from you, which results in you leaning farther forwards than you had predicted; which results in you not knowing exactly what you are aiming for. Fortunately, Annabeth's a nice enough person as to not step away from you and let you fall to your embarrassing but relieving death… No, she just tries turning her head away when she feels if she moves farther away from you you'll lose your balance. And yes, afterward you'll consider it is also a smart idea not to close your eyes to kiss a friend in the cheek. But presently, that's not even important.

With your lips pursed and your eyes closed, you take a leap of faith into this terrible pond of unfortunate decisions and sudden actions and end up kissing Annabeth directly on the mouth.

You open an eye when you realize what your lips are placed on doesn't feel like a cheek, then open both of them wide in surprise when you see what's going on. In the brief space that lays between one second and the next, you notice Annabeth's own eyes are closed tight and that a slight frown is in her face, that the hand she placed on your forearm is not pushing you away, and that her other hand is being placed on your waist just as you push away.

"Gods! I'm sorry!" you say, terrified.

You expect any thing to happen. And none at all.

Maybe she'll tell you to leave because she doesn't want you around anymore. Or she'll start crying while mumbling how bad she feels for doing this to Percy. You half expect her to slap you in the face, or to grab you by the shoulders and kiss you again, deeper this time. She'll do either that or just stand there, looking at you, stunned —

Just as she's standing.

Or as she stands for well over a minute before chuckling, at least.

Because, though that was the very last thing you expected her to do, that's the very thing she does — she chuckles. Smiling.

"It's okay," she tells you. Smiling.

"No, seriously. I mean it, I just wanted to kiss your cheek. You turned! It's all your fault!"

You're used to feeling like this. Like you're the one with the problem when there's really no problem at all. Annabeth's smiling. Little Leo, from the depths of your mind calls out to you, trying to make you see it.

But you're on a roll.

"I won't deny I wanted to because I totally did." You hold your head low, as to not look at her and allow her to see how terrified you are. "And it's all your fault, Annabeth! Honestly. I was doing just fine making new friends and having a boyfriend and enjoying myself before we all end up dying or whatever. And it's your fault! You had to go and ask me if I had a crush on you and I just couldn't… I just wouldn't… I won't lie to you, Annabeth," you finish firmly.

Annabeth _does_ slap you in the face now. Still smiling — for some reason you persistently and unconsciously register she's still doing it.

"Get a grip," she tells you. "It doesn't matter. C'mon." You can't be sure if you see it or if you just _want_ to see it, but it appears to you Annabeth is blushing.

She opens the door and heads out.

  **...**

The second time Annabeth and you kiss, it is… it's… actually quite nice.

Annabeth leads this time, which probably has something to do with how good it is when compared to the first one.

Because seriously. This second one leaves you feeling the first one was almost a figment of your imagination, or a fabricated fact. Like when your father and the mother of some kid at your elementary school teased you about being the girlfriend of the mother's boy. Which of course wasn't true at all.

You have spent all day travelling across the city. Annabeth is tireless, you discovered. Especially when she wants to show architectural landmarks to someone. She can seriously talk all day when she wants to.

There were moments when she would go quiet and stare off into the distance. Thinking about her boyfriend, you imagine, and about how many things she's done with him in this city. But she still stays as happy as you could hope for.

There is no mention of the little kiss you shared earlier. Nor of the short conversation you had at the top of Half-Blood Hill last week. Annabeth acts as if it hadn't happened, as if you hadn't told her you have a crush on her.

It's already dark by the time a taxi drops you off in front of Annabeth's building.

The second kiss happens shortly after you return. The moment she opens the door, a thought occurs to you… and it impresses you to realize you haven't thought about it before. Because when she invited you to visit, you probably imagined she'd have two beds in her dorm room, or that there would be some way in which you would stay in her room without sharing a bed. It's funny. It's as if you never even considered the possibility that she'd have only one bed, or that you would have to share that one bed were you to come visit her.

But the door opens and you catch a glimpse of its inside just before Annabeth moves to the side to let you in. It is then that you remember you did notice there was only one bed when you first walked in, hours ago. You must have overlooked that detail, what with the kiss and all, your mind wasn't in the right place.

"There's one bed," you utter suddenly.

"There is," Annabeth confirms, nodding her head without looking at you.

"There is _only_ one bed."

Annabeth shoots an uncertain smile at you. "There a problem?"

Did you two kiss earlier, then, or was it actually just a fabricated fact? Did she ever ask you if you had a crush on her, or was that just a figment of your imagination? Didn't she notice all those furtive glances you didn't bother disguising today? Can't she see what the problem would be, what problem would _you_ have with sleeping in the same bed as her?

"No, it's great." You try acting nonchalant. Tell yourself she'll probably bring out a sleeping bag for you or something. "No problem at all." _Just the one… bed_ , you suppress.

"Good," Annabeth says as you gaze out her window, in an attempt to distract yourself. It provides you with a clear view of a quiet street. "I hoped you'd have no problem with sleeping with me."

You're so distracted by the little kids playing in the distance that it takes you a second to realize what she said.

When you do, you turn to her, horrified again for some reason. "Wh-what?" you exclaim.

She's turned the lights off, which causes the room to submerge in an almost impenetrable darkness. But the darkness doesn't hide Annabeth from you, because she's right behind you — she's closer than when you approached her to kiss her cheek earlier. The light of a nearby streetlamp illuminates her face and neck. It doesn't reach much lower because your own head catches the light before it can get beyond her collarbone.

You noticed earlier Annabeth's tank top was purple today. You didn't think of it as something remarkable. You liked much better the red one she used a week ago. But it's just now, as you have her right in front of you, that you realize how similar that purple is to the purple Jason's shirt was the day he woke up next to you in a bus on the way to the Grand Canyon.

It does things to your head, remembering that.

What things it does to your head, it doesn't really matter. Annabeth gives you no time to think — she leans in, her beautiful gray eyes settled on yours, and kisses you.

And there's so much things you feel — your racing heartbeat; hers against your chest; her warm hands on your cheeks, and the strip of her skin that your hands touch under her top at her waist; her lips moving, her tongue hesitantly poking in; and so much more — that it's almost as if you're feeling nothing. As if your brain had become saturated with entering stimuli and had stopped working. You discover an experience that's truly indescribable.

And you promptly reciprocate all the emotion she presses into the kiss, not caring if it's meant for you or if it's totally misdirected.

You'll discover later, though, that it is most likely misdirected. But right now you don't even care.

  **...**

You can't seem to get any sleep.

Annabeth sleeps deeply at your side — or, at least, she pretends to. Her arm snaked its way over your stomach at some point of the night. It feels hot.

It's not distracting, though. Her body inches away from yours is not what's keeping you awake. It's her dorm room. No, not the way what you're able to see of it through the darkness is so neatly organized. Not the fact that it is, indeed, small. Nor the fact that the light filtering through her curtains falls right on your face.

Nah.

You're trying to remember why it is that she's living here, in this room. You can't remember whether her father's renting it so that she can have a place to stay, or if her school assigned it to her. Curiously enough, you're aware of how unimportant that detail actually is, but you don't seem to care.

It takes you a good half hour to chew on that enough to realize there's much more depth in your thought. More depth in your motive for wondering that: You don't care about the dorm room at all. You care about Annabeth, and how she told you who gave her the room as soon as she picked you up at Camp.

"First," she said, "we'll go to my room. We'll leave our things and—"

"Your room?"

"It's this small place at Upper East Side that…" And there's where it gets tricky. Did she say "…that my father rents", or did she say "that my school gave me"?

But seriously. It doesn't matter. What matters is that she told you, and yet you don't remember. What is she to you, then? Okay, you have a crush on her, and you spent a long time kissing her. But you also have a boyfriend; and after that little date you had with Jason last week, you're quite sure you'll end up loving him, if you don't love him already.

Whereas Annabeth… Well, you sure as Hades like her a lot. But does it mean anything? Well, you sure as Hades hope not really. For the sake of the people that mean something to you at the moment. Annabeth and Jason, so far as you know.

Besides, she _has_ a boyfriend of her own. Percy Jackson, no less. Hero extraordinaire.

 _But she's doubting her feelings for him_ , Little Leo reminds you. _She says it makes no sense for her to miss him so much._

And it probably doesn't, you think. It doesn't make sense.

This is not a romantic story. It's not a movie or a book where two kids can't stand each other, then fall in love. Annabeth's a daughter of Athena, the goddess of wisdom. And if there's something in this world that isn't wisdom, that is feelings, passions. Love.

Ugh. That's why you hate thinking so much. Your trains of thought tend to become… pathologically philosophical. They also go all around the place, which, you think, is probably the only symptom of ADHD that afflicts you.

You sigh loudly, frustrated with yourself.

Maybe too loudly, though…

"Mh," Annabeth grumbles at your side. "Puh-Piper?" She rolls so she's laying on her side and rubs her eyes. Your belly goes cold the moment her arm stops touching it. "What is it?"

There's no hiding it, you tell yourself. Not because she'd know what's bothering you, but because you really feel like you wanna know about she and Percy. She's barely spoken about it to you. Said it made no sense. But what if it does? Does it make sense for you to like Jason? For you to like her?

You feel there's more to your attraction to her than what you can fathom, but you're afraid to dig deeper.

"So, anyway," you start casually. "What did you mean by that, huh? By it not making sense?"

It comes back to her as soon as you say it. You can tell. The sleep drains right out of her eyes; her forehead tenses, suddenly frowning. "I already told you… Didn't I?"

She mumbles aimlessly for a time. Maybe trying to divert the conversation. But every time she leaves an empty space in-between sentences for you to say something, you just stare at her in the darkness. Her face is bright with the raining light from outside.

She looks beautiful.

"I've told you about Luke, right?" She finally gives up. Her fingers run down your hair, which, by the way, is not quite as choppy as you're used to. You've thought of cutting it. Soon. "Well, if I've told you about him you'll understand why I don't want to rush into things the next time I'm in love."

"Because you want it to make sense?"

"Because it should, shouldn't it?" Through a sigh, Annabeth lets out her stress. She's on the verge of tears when she next talks. "I'm supposed to be smart, and still… How are you supposed to be smart when you're in love? I mean. Looking back, I guess I wasn't really smart during the Titan War. Everybody could see Luke was hopeless. But I…"

"Your believing in him is what saved him. It's what saved all of us."

You say it without even giving it a thought. It still feels right, though. Not just right because you know it'll help her. Right because it seems like the right place in which to dig.

Annabeth loved Luke. Luke became a tool for Kronos, the baddest bad guy there's been, as of yet. Luke used the love Annabeth felt for him to believe he could be a good guy, but it was too late.

And yet, at the last moment, when his last chance came, he was able to become the hero Annabeth always believed he was.

Wow, you think suddenly. That _does_ feel like the right place to dig.

But there's no time to plunge the shovel in those thoughts. Annabeth's blinking, probably surprised that your words have, in fact, made her feel better about herself.

A small smile surfaces, dipping under it a confused, rather self-depreciating frown. Annabeth sniffs. A single tear rolls down her cheek, too late now to accompany her sadness.

For there's none in her face now.

"You're right," Annabeth whispers. "You're right." Then she kisses your cheek sincerely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, someone said my quote from the note at the beginning of the last chapter was from the graphic novel of Watchmen. As I said, it was partly right. (May this serve as the useless fact of the week for this week.) In fact, the quote is from the SCRIPT of the first number of the graphic novel of Watchmen, so it's the kind of stuff you wouldn't simply come accross while reading it. You kinda have to dig deeper to find it. ;)
> 
> (Oh, and speaking of useless facts of the week (or UFWs to abbreviate), the other place in which I'm publishing this story has a few other ones in the previous chapters. I hadn't posted them here because I thought I wasn't posting them here. Then yesterday I realized there was one in the third chapter, and just for the sake of it I decided to add the other couple of UFWs here. Go back and check them if you like. I like to believe they are actually quite interesting.)


	9. IX.

**IX.**

Annabeth is the highlight of your second trip to Manhattan as well. You've come to learn the shape of her face, the temperature of her lips. You've talked to her in hushed whispers until you've fallen asleep. You've sighed contentedly to the feeling of her body laying directly behind yours in the morning, and you've gasped in surprise when, in her sleep, she moved her hands over your stomach.

You've spent almost the whole weekend wondering if what you feel for her is like what you feel for Jason, suppressing the persistent urge to ask her what it is the two of you are doing.

And so, the moment Leo asks how was your weekend, with a blush on your face you answer, "Not that bad", knowing fully that not only will he know you're not being sincere, but dreading the moment in which he'll inquire for more. Leo is sort of like the little brother you never wished for, and he can read you as easily as he reads the complex blueprints of his _Argo II_.

And, indeed, reacting to your response, he looks up at you with narrowed eyes. "Not that bad?" he repeats. You nod, not meeting his eye. His suspicion becomes slightly dramatic when his tendency to make other people laugh tries to surface, and it makes you smile. But when he speaks you know he's serious. "You and Annabeth enjoyed each other…'s company, then?"

Your eyes widen when he elongates the space between the r and the s, giving away every bit of information you could've hoped to keep a secret.

"Holy Hephaestus, you did!" Leo points accusingly at you. Beyond Leo you notice several of his siblings glancing over to where you're standing with him, probably wondering what marvelous experiment has made him scream like that. "Gods, Piper!" he keeps shouting. "I thought you'd eradicated that tradition of breaking hearts from your cabin. How hypocritical…"

"Okay, Leo," you hiss at him. "First of all, shut up, would you?" He frowns, turning his head and realizing most of the demigods in the workshop are rising eyebrows in your direction.

"Oh, right." He shrugs. "Sorry, I guess."

"Second," you continue, "calm down a bit. You make it sound like I had planned on raping her or something."

"Well, Beauty Queen," Leo says. "Considering you have a boyfriend, who is, by the way, also my best friend, and still you like a girl you just met who is in a sentimentally-troubled situation of which you want to take advantage… Yeah. I wouldn't put anything past you."

You blush furiously. "Could you stop being so ridiculously-overdramatic?" you dismiss him. Though his words stick to your memory — to torture you later, you're sure. "Third, what do you mean hypocritical? I'm not trying to break any hearts, Leo."

"Then what _are_ you doing?"

It surprises you to see how serious he is, and how right he could be. The last couple of weeks have felt so fast… One day you were hanging out with Jason and falling in love with him all over again at the rooftop of the Big House, being in control of your troubling feelings for Annabeth. And the next time you look at yourself, you're having the teenager equivalent of a love-affair with the one that's supposed to be your best female friend.

The only good thing of your new situation was the fact that you're still pretty much in love with your boyfriend, something you had considered to be a healthy aspect of your present, screwed-by-the-gods life. But now that Leo talks about breaking hearts and taking advantage of Annabeth, you're reconsidering your situation from a whole different angle, a more objective angle.

And you realize this angle is making you feel like a horrible horrible person.

The realization must dawn on you very noticeably, because when you next look at Leo he's nodding gravely.

"Okay." He drags a nearby stool and sits on it. "Tell me about it."

And suddenly you're telling him everything. You tell him of the days Annabeth and you spent talking at the catwalk in Bunker 9, and of that first time you felt something for her as you hugged her in New Year's Eve, and of how the days following that you tried to avoid her without success and without even really trying.

When you get to the moment she asked you if you had a crush on her, Leo's eyes are very wide. He's a rather disconcerting audience, because it's like everything you say surprises him, but the only signal he gives of his surprise is his eyes widening steadily and slowly; besides that, there's no reaction whatsoever to your words.

But when you mention your telling Annabeth you had a crush on her, he even interrupts you.

"You admitted it?" he exclaims. Then, shaking his head in what appears to be admiration, he says, "You gotta help me seduce girls, Pipes. It's obvious you know what that is all about." Which of course makes you blush.

You keep going, not hiding anything, or stopping yourself at any point. You speak of how you'd been doubting your feelings for Jason until he took you on that date, and how said date made you doubt your feelings for Annabeth. And you describe to him the events that occurred during your visit last week, how you kissed Annabeth, and how she kissed you, and how you fell asleep holding each other and kissing each other…

Finally, you get to your most recent visit; to yesterday, and the day before yesterday.

"Annabeth wanted to take me sightseeing again, but when we entered her room she started kissing me instead," you mumble, flustered. Leo is like a little brother to you, so it _is_ weird telling him some details of your stories. "Then, after a while, she started to cry and said she'd missed me and she missed Camp and Percy…" You sigh deeply, remembering how powerless you felt when you realized there was nothing you could say or do to make her feel better. "So, I just kissed her and tried to keep her distracted…"

"Distracted?"

"Shut up, Leo, you're disgusting." But still you laugh, because his teasing, sideways look and suggesting eyebrow-wiggling is just so stupid. "You know what I mean. I was just trying to help."

"I bet you were." From his worktable Leo grabs what appears to be an unfinished pocket-watch and starts picking at it with his wide collection of screwdrivers. "It just doesn't seem like it…"

You hate how Leo always makes you question yourself. He doesn't even need to try.

He's right, though, you tell yourself. Am I doing this because I want to help her, or… or am I just fulfilling my own perverted urges?

The prospect is too awful. What if you are, though? What if every time you told yourself you wanted to avoid the topic of Percy Jackson you were just telling yourself that? Because, looking back, it never felt like you were trying to get her boyfriend out of her head. Not really.

There is, still lingering, the very first thought you had when you saw Annabeth crying, when you thought she looked so beautiful even when sad… And, gods!, how sadistic can you be? How much can you lack self-control, you think. Self-control to stop the thoughts of _Beautiful crying Annabeth_ , or of _Beautiful crying Annabeth who I like so much!_

"The power of ideas," you sigh. How ironic…

You've developed a crush on Annabeth because you've thought those thoughts repeatedly, and yet they feel so unauthentic, so external. So artificial. It's like what's going on with Annabeth, you think, how she doubts what she feels for Percy just because it occurred to her they dated for too short a time before he went missing, and because that irrational idea has been rolling around inside her head without even needing to have one bit of truth in its implications.

Or how you started doubting what you feel for Jason just because you've been having such a good time with Annabeth and because, being objective, you haven't known him long enough to claim you love him. But you look at him and there's the whirlwind of emotions and the whole nausea thing that makes you wanna puke the insects out of your stomach.

"Sorry?" Leo quirks his eyebrows at you.

"Sorry what?"

He shrugs. "Don't know. You were just gone for a minute there. Came back to say some stuff about ideas… That's all I heard, though. Sorry 'bout that too. Been fixing this bad boy."

The saliva you swallow is thick as this one blob of hair-gel you once were dared to swallow, back at Wilderness School.

"Aren't you supposed to build some bad-ass murder warship?"

"In any case," Leo avoids the question. "I believe you should try to help Annabeth. Even if you go have sex with her or whatever. Doesn't matter. But if she ends up alright just go 'head and do it."

You know he's joking because you're not yet sixteen and any talk of a couple and sex makes you blush, and he knows it, and that's why he teases you whenever he can. But you know, you _know_ there's this wise undertone to his voice and eyes and posture, as if even with his motionless hands he was telling you he knows what he's talking about. Though that could have something to do with how you hear his voice with the same wiseness whenever you're confused, thanks to your other little imaginary friend.

Curse all the gods. Aphrodite before any other. And Leo along with her.

"And how am I supposed to help, now that you're the expert?"

"Kiss her. Whatever. Apparently, it _does_ help. Both to her and you, so… Who knows, maybe you'll be so bad she'll remember what she loves of her dude. Or she'll go back to loving him since you resemble him so much."

He's trying to get you to smile. And he ultimately does, but damn, is he wise.

Because without barely ever seeing you two together he's hit the matter in the right place. Because without even knowing what you're thinking, he's saying all the right stuff to put you in the right trail. In the right place in which to dig.

Like you, Annabeth's doubting her feelings for her boyfriend, simply because, in her loneliness, she's had too much time to mull over her feelings and her troubles and her past… and even the qualities she should supposedly have, being her mother's daughter.

She wants everything to make sense, love to make sense. She wants her feelings for Percy to make sense, to be logical. But love is rarely ever logical… and yet it always is. You should know — you're a daughter of the goddess of love.

You doubted your feelings for Jason because what you thought you felt for Annabeth was too similar, and it made you unsure. If she made you feel the same, why would Jason be the one you love; why would what you feel for either be love? But you had a great date with him and remembered why you love him — or why you think you love him, anyway.

And with Annabeth there's no trace of love. Not like there is with Jason. You spent the last two days sharing kisses and sad silent smiles, and you felt no love. All you felt was the constant burning of the metaphorical leaves. Its fire licking hesitantly at the green forest that is your soul.

Somewhere, deep inside your skull, Little Leo tries to remind you how that imaginary fire is what started it all with Jason, but you wave his suggestions away.

He's insistent, though, and he makes himself heard over your dismissal by suggesting a different line of thinking. A much more neutral line of thinking. _Maybe Annabeth doesn't need to not think about him_ , he says. _Maybe what she needs is another idea, one that makes her_ see _what she feels for her Percy is actually logical. That it makes sense. The truth._

Because there's no denying what she feels for Percy is true, you know. You've seen her eyes whenever she mentions him, and how she's cried for him for so long. She loves him whether she likes it or not. And it makes sense for Annabeth to love Percy.

So, maybe what you need is to discover _why_ it makes sense in order to help her see it.

Leo keeps on talking about stuff you don't really care about, and eventually leads you on a tour through his yet-to-be-finished war machine. He shows you the lower decks, the engine room, and describes to you how cool the cabins are going to be. He cracks you up.

But the whole while, you're only half following what he says. You're coming to a resolution, a resolution to help Annabeth — _really_ help Annabeth. You're going to her dorm room again next week, and you're going to help her figure it all out.

And you're going to try not to kiss her. You don't make any promises there, though. You're convinced that you love Jason, but also that you can't help liking Annabeth as much as you do. She's beautiful. Besides, Leo could be right. Maybe by kissing her and hugging her you're actually helping. What can be more supportive than holding a sad person while she cries herself to sleep?

Nothing, you tell yourself.

And though in the back of your head you know you should question that last part of your resolution, Little Leo helps you oversee it with a huge smug smirk and a lot of supporting words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "...Ezekiel 25:17. The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish, and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness , for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you.'"
> 
> Useless fact of the week — That speech is from the movie Pulp Fiction, and is supposed to be, in turn, a passage from the Bible. But it's not. Quentin Tarantino wrote it. In the Bible it's actually like two phrases long.
> 
> Another useless fact of the week — Funny you should mention Samuel L. Jackson, since it's his character the one that enunciates that speech. And you know what's even more interesting? In the second movie of the Captain America, The Winter Soldier, when Jackson's character, Nick Fury (who in the movie dies without dying), goes to see his own grave, the epitaph in his tomb is the beginning of the speech written above. Funny, huh?
> 
> (Don't you believe I'm a religious person because I'm not. I'm not even sure what that speech is supposed to mean; but if you've ever seen Pulp Fiction, you know how great it sounds when read like Samuel L. Jackson.)


	10. X.

**X.**

In the last month or so, since you were rescued by an ass-kicking satyr from a bunch of air-bullies and brought to Camp Half-Blood, you've felt all sorts of things. You've felt anxiousness after knowing your father was a prisoner; you've felt sadness after realizing you'd have to betray Jason and Leo to get him back; you felt happiness once it all was over, once you were sure your father would be alright and your friends and you had succeeded with your task; you've felt fear ever since then, because you now know that your life might just end way sooner than you expected; and you've felt excitement about being with Jason, such a huge amount of excitement that it could only be understood by describing first the dreadful days you spent believing he would never be yours again, and that, in reality, he had never been so to begin with.

You've felt all sorts of wonderful and horrible things, and yet you're new to this feeling.

You don't think it's love. Love you have felt. Love you're familiar with. It could have something to do too, though. But it's not love. No. Besides, were it love, it would show itself in different manners, with different symptoms.

The flock of birds — they must be birds, since no smaller animal would give you such nausea — is love's; the tingling fingertips and trembling hands as well. The involuntary smile and giggles, the constant blushing…

But there's a point where what you're feeling in your gut turns intense as all Hades, hot as the hell that you used to believe in before you knew you are a demigod. A point where you can't tell if your hands are still trembling — because they're feeling numb.

The heat is what bothers you the most. It begins, as has been told, in your stomach; but it spreads farther and farther away, as the oil of some transatlantic ship that had a leak would in the middle of the ocean. It gets to your chest and fastens your breathing, hastens the beating of your heart. It gets to your arms and tenses your biceps and triceps, sending to your hands an electric shock so intense that it causes your fingers to clamp on whatever they have within reach. It gets to your face and heats it up; though, unlike when you blush, it doesn't make your skin red, it causes it to sweat.

It gets to your groin and makes you suppress a pleasured moan.

"Okay, we better stop!"

Your words float away and dissolve on empty space.

Jason pushes away from you, his breathing slightly ragged, his expression dumbfounded.

"Puh, Pi-Pipes?" he manages — barely.

Okay, maybe he's not just dumbfounded, maybe he's dumb, too.

Using your elbows and hands, you scoot away, being as discreet about it as you can — which means not a lot, since most of your limbs are still numb. Looking around you, you try to come up with something good to excuse your reluctance to continue.

He's your boyfriend, after all. It should be okay for you to make-out.

"I'm sorry. _So_ sorry," you respond to his questioning look. Babbling. "It's just… I… I've never done this, Jason, and we're, we're up here and it's beautiful — it _seriously_ is — and you're so handsome tonight… And all of that… it just makes me really, _really_ nervous."

Jason blinks a couple of times, apparently coming out of his trance just now. "Oh," he attempts, then blinks again, his head shaking. "I mean… It's totally okay, Piper. I understand." It goes without saying that this is also his first time doing this. "It doesn't matter."

You both take a deep breath, then, silently staring down at a couple of Hephaestus kids that are just coming back from Bunker 9. They have a short confrontation with an annoyed harpy — you hear something about not having eaten a meaty, tasty kid in over a century — before walking into their cabin, shoulders tiredly slumped. The longer the silence stretches between you, the more awkward you feel.

When he talks again, it's to comment on the weather. "Don't ask me to remember much about my old camp, but I can tell you, there's no clear nights like this over there."

Great, you tell yourself, now just talk about how it's so cold and we're officially the most boring couple ever.

However, Jason's face is overcome by his infamous pained frown, and he starts recounting some details of his camp that you haven't heard before. He describes to you a wide valley, and the barracks where he lives. Says he's some sort of big-shot among his people.

You don't pay very close attention until he mentions Reyna.

"She was… is, I guess, the leader of the Roman kids. She, uh…" he looks uncertainly at you. "Well. I was never really sure, but I think she, uh…"

"Liked you?" you complete.

"Right. It's not important now, though. I'm here and with you and all…"

You wonder how you would feel if the guy you liked disappeared suddenly. You're pretty sure you wouldn't like to hear him say that whatever you two had was not important.

"But… I imagine you would be with her now if you hadn't been kidnapped by Hera, right?"

"Well, yeah. I don't know, I guess so… As leaders, we would've spent lots of time together. We had already been alone together a lot. Talking a lot. One grows close, I guess, once you have such a chance to connect with someone else… Even if you're forced into it by duty."

Duty. The word sounds as if meant to be said by his lips.

"I don't know, though, Pipes…" he continues. "I think it's better this way. I mean, what you and I have…" He blushes furiously. Jason is not the kind of guy who believes a guy should be this way and a girl should be that way, but even you feel sick by how corny the beginning of his sentence sounds. "I mean, it's nothing like that. I guess I had to be brought here to really know what it is to like someone."

You feel your eyebrows rising in surprise.

After another deep sigh, Jason keeps describing the camp — Camp Jupiter, he remembers suddenly. His lips quirk upward, smiling, as he continues, remembering what he speaks of as he talks,.

He mentions a hill where they pray to their gods and where their oracle — augur, he calls it — sacrifices teddy bears in exchange of prophecies. He rants for a moment about how his Roman gods are much tougher than the Greek ones, how they're all war-loving, fearless and obsessed with bravery and victory. How they all incite to useless fighting.

He goes back to his beautiful camp — always having in mind the thread of his conversation — and describes its glorious aqueduct and mentions something called New Rome. That attracts your attention.

"What do you mean New Rome? Are you telling me your camp is in Europe or something?"

You're suddenly seeing a mental image of Jason eating lots of spaghetti and pizza while riding vespas and trotting happily on piazzas, chanting and singing in a weird language.

"Haha," he laughs. "Of course not, Piper. As far as I can tell, Camp Jupiter must be somewhere in California. I'm sure Annabeth told you about it. I told her all I could remember weeks ago." With a frown, he adds, "Though maybe I should converse with her and Chiron again soon, since I seem to be remembering a lot more details that could be useful, huh?"

You laugh nervously, agreeing. He had to mention Annabeth, you think uncomfortably.

And just when you thought the night couldn't get more awkward, the heat — which you had believed to have vanished minutes ago — spreads once again all through your body at the thought of your blonde, gray-eyed friend.

You haven't seen Annabeth since last Sunday. Today it's Thursday, and you plan on visiting her once more this weekend. You were trying hard not to think about her, and, being with Jason, it had been working so far.

But the moment he mentions her you see her face and imagine her standing in front of you, waving her hand and smiling that sad smile, just like when you'd last seen her.

She'd looked so beautiful.

No, Piper, you effectively stop yourself. You're with Jason and that's what matters right now.

But the heat and the guilt remain within bothering distance.

"You said she likes architecture, right? That's perfect. New Rome is kinda like a New Old Rome. There's a Colosseum, not yet half-destroyed, a Senate House and a horse-racing arena. It's amazing. Really. Lots of monuments and huge statues. It must be like a heaven for aspiring architects…" You shut him out for a moment — partly because you don't want to care for New Rome or his camp; mostly because you're having trouble ignoring the thoughts of Annabeth. It's fortunate when Jason asks you about her again, because you were starting to believe if he didn't you would the next time you spoke. "How is she, by the way?"

You blink before responding, just coming out of your reverie. "What? Oh. She's… you know. Studying or whatever."

Jason chuckles reflexively. "With ADHD and dyslexia, you'd think she would've given up on studies, huh? No wonder she's such an inspiration around here." He picks up a rock from the roof and makes an almost-perfect throw at the basket of the basketball court. The rock bounces off the hoop and falls to the floor. "I hope it's not weird if I ask you about her," Jason continues. "It's just… You and Annabeth are pretty close now, and I feel like we never talk about it."

"What's there to talk about?" you say nervously.

Because really. You don't necessarily feel like you should mention the several kisses you've shared with her, or how, not two weeks and a half ago, your feelings for her rivaled the ones you have for him.

"I don't know." Jason sounds unsure, as if he was embarrassed of asking. As if he'd been hoping you told him it was weird and to shut up. But you don't think it's weird or wrong. You think it's actually quite nice of him to show some sort of interest. "I keep thinking I should be helping her a lot more with her… sadness or whatever." One of his shoulders shrugs as he glances at you. "After all, I'm the one that was exchanged for her boyfriend…"

It _is_ quite nice of him to show any sort of interest. Really.

You realize it's probably one of the things you love so much about him. He's a kid that got kidnapped by a goddess and sent to a camp full of theoretical enemies, a bunch of Greek kids who he didn't even need to care about. And yet. And yet he's helped them. He's saved them. And he's willing to risk his life for them. And even then, he's making sure that this bunch of potential enemies don't try to destroy his old home or harm his old friends in some way.

He's willing to risk his life to save the world, and still he's trying to keep the ones he cares about safe, so that even if he dies—

No, you interrupt your train of thoughts. He'll live. _We'll_ live.

You look at him and see so much more than the fifteen-year-old kid whose life has been turned upside-down by the willful and unthankful gods. And yet, you think, he has time to worry about poor Annabeth who's missing her boyfriend and who spends the weekends making out with his girlfriend.

And… Yeah, you're sort of wishing you were dead right now.

"Well, um… She's still sad sometimes, but…" You try to redeem yourself by telling him how you're helping her, but the only way you've found to help her involves a lot of kissing and touching, and for some reason all that feels like a really bad thing to say to your boyfriend. "Um… Well, she's taken me 'round the city a lot when I go. Because… Yeah, she likes architecture a lot, and she knows all these facts…"

You wanna keep going. Really, there's nothing you wish more than to be able to continue, but you just can't. The heat that's spreading between your legs is becoming overwhelming, and you're hating yourself for it.

You don't know what it is. It could be Jason just as well as it could be Annabeth.

Is there no limit to your perversion? you wonder.

Apparently, seeing him so concerned about the girl you're lusting after has made you lust after him, too — which is kind of unfortunate, since he's the one you have within reach and the one whom, just minutes ago, you rejected using the argument that you don't think you're ready to go any further than the occasional, no-longer-awkward kissing-session/not-quite-makingout.

And for a moment you wanna stop and mull over the fact that, apparently, some part of you has unconsciously accepted that at least one of the things both Annabeth and Jason provoke within you is lust. But you're too focused on the fact that maybe, just maybe, the fire that the idea of liking Annabeth started weeks ago has just successfully spread to the rest of your forest-soul — or whatever else you wanna call it — and it's made you realize that, indeed…

What you feel for Annabeth is almost the exact same thing you feel for Jason.

And, _by the gods!_ , going back to your cabin and dealing with this on your own is starting to sound like the safest thing to do.

The amount of love you're feeling for your boyfriend increases when you notice he's dismissed your rather elusive comments as a polite sort of rejection. It's not what they are, but you're too tired to deal with what the correction would imply.

So, you just do the same thing he's done and let your body fall back on the uncomfortable red surface of the Big House roof.

You're still warm, though, and it makes you restless. The heat makes you oversensitive — you're highly conscious of how Jason's knee is touching your thigh, and of how, after a few moments, he starts running his hands through your hair, careful not to touch your scalp. You're highly conscious of how your skin is beginning to sweat even when the night is so fresh.

You focus on that same freshness in an attempt to ignore the awful arousal.

So, that's what it is, you think. Arousal.

"It's okay for you to ask… I guess," you tell Jason after a while. "It's not a big secret that she's sad." You concentrate on a cluster of stars that, as far as you remember, is the belt of Orion. Three bright stars floating in a crooked line. It helps you slow down your breathing, focusing on them. Your heart no longer sounds like the violent percussions of some marching band. "And, well, I do spend a lot of time with her lately."

"Yeah… I don't really mind that. Though I must admit it sometimes feels as if you're shutting me out."

You wince at his words, because they make you remember how poor a job you've been doing as his girlfriend.

"About that," you begin, wavering in almost every vowel, "I'm sorry, Jason. Everything's been crazy around here since we got back. What with Bunker 9 and all the activities we're supposed to have and saving Leo's table and celebrating Christmas and New Year and…"

"And Annabeth?"

"Sure. That. I guess, I, um… I've been a little distant. I've been neglecting you. And I'm really sorry."

Your wince, much like the anxiousness that has accompanied you for the last two weeks or so, vanishes after you finish.

Smiling widely, Jason enters your line of sight, supporting himself by placing an elbow next to your head. "It's okay," he says. "It also took me a while to realize how lonely I've been feeling. I mean, Leo's great company — he's hilarious. But he's too busy. And I've tried to distract myself with all these activities, and getting in shape… I guess I just got to a point where I realized I hadn't had a real conversation with someone for days. And that's when I figured, whatever, and brought you out here last week."

Again, Jason blushes at his own corniness. You probably blush a little as well. Close to you as he is, his clear eyes appear darker, almost black; but they reflect the indirect light of the moonlight and shine gray where blue should meet white. You want to get lost in those.

And so, you do.

Jason continues, his voice an even whisper, "And I brought you out here and, modesty aside, I thought it was a great idea."

"It was a _great_ idea," you add.

"Because I remembered why I like you so much, Pipes. And why I'm not all that angry with Hera — or Juno, whatever — for sending me here."

You smile hesitatingly. "Anytime, dude. That's what girlfriends are for, anyway."

He chuckles and leans down to kiss you.

Soon you're feeling that again. The nameless sensation that started it all. Arousal, you remember.

And, even as Jason runs his hands over the ghost of Annabeth's fingertips on your stomach, and as you bury your own fingers in his hair, you allow yourself to be aroused.

Because, Hades, if you don't enjoy this while you're with your boyfriend, you'll be afraid to enjoy it if — or rather, _when_ — it comes to you while being in Annabeth's company.


	11. XI.

**XI.**

You hate yourself the moment you ask it… You still do it, though, because for days you've convinced yourself you'd come to help, not to do… whatever it is you've been doing the last times you've come.

She needs to deal with it, you tell yourself. She needs to confront it.

There's also that other reason — that you think by digging that particular hole you'll find something that might help her in a more permanent way.

Then, of course, is the real reason why you ask the question. The selfish reason. The fact that, in truth, you only utter the first thing that comes into your mind to free yourself from this feeling.

The one you're so afraid of…

It's good you'd been just thinking about it on your way here; that way, the first thing that came to your mind was a thought that was particularly fresh, rather than some other, more dangerous thing to ask, such as would be, for example, anything concerning her boyfriend or some lame attempt at asking what's been going on with the _Argo II_.

It's good because at least it'll help her — or rather, you — get over whatever's going on with her. It's good because, you think, it'll make her grief go away, it'll replace her anxiousness and doubts concerning her feelings for Percy and turn them into maybe eagerness because you'll be going to him in a few months. Just this week, it occurred to you that that grief and those doubts are connected. The latter causes the former. It's not that he's missing what has her suffering. It's the fact that she doesn't allow herself to love him.

It's just a crazy guess, but if you're right about it, then helping her should be way simpler.

There's an idea hiding in there. You know there is. Ever since you arrived at Camp Half-Blood you've marveled at what ideas can do to you, and to others. Once, you thought vaguely about how much you liked being with Annabeth, compared it to how it is being with your boyfriend and liked it better; and you suggested yourself, through the infamous Little Leo, that you liked her in much the same way you like him; convinced yourself of it. Annabeth's boyfriend got lost and she's also been lost ever since; she's been given time to spare to delve into her feelings and question them instead of just trying to overcome them; she's remembered what it was for her loving a boy before, and remembered just how badly that had turned out; and she convinced herself that what she feels for Percy makes no sense.

Even though it does.

And you know, there's something that tells you — could be Little Leo, though you'd doubt it, since it's not malicious as he usually is — that deep inside her story with this Luke, an idea could help her. She says what she felt for him made no sense and was actually bad, but it helped win the war. Something makes it make sense.

I just gotta help her see that, you thought at some point, to let her know it makes sense. That it all makes sense. Because, somehow, you're also sure that whatever works for that first crush of her, works also for the relationship that troubles her presently.

So. It's all that and more what makes you ask the question. But mostly it's just the need you feel to have her away from you in order to not feel aroused anymore.

Because being so conscious of her warm body so close to yours as she kisses you and runs her hands on your skin, either on your face or your shoulders, under your shirt or right over the top of your pajama bottoms, is making you feel aroused. Horny.

And it's scaring the charmspeak out of you — almost literally, you think ironically, since there's a bit of that injected into your question.

And that's good, too, because if the question wasn't enough to make her stop, at least the charmspeak did the trick.

The moment you utter the words, she leans away and stares at you terrified.

"What?" she asks.

You know she's only asking it to give you a chance to back out and ask something else. But you also know you shouldn't ask something else, that she wants you to repeat the question again, even if it's unconsciously.

And so, you do it. "Are you ever going to tell me about this famous Luke?"

You want to be casual, but there's no point in being so.

Annabeth falls back into a sitting position, still glaring at you. You try to be nonchalant about how you're both breathing as if you'd run a marathon, and about how your crotch is almost burning you.

"Wow," she whispers. "Such a way to kill the mood, Piper."

"Was it a good mood at all, Annabeth?"

She doesn't answer.

Her tank top is ruffled at the hem, which allows you to glimpse at the flat stomach. The bra peeks maliciously out of her cleavage. You have to blink and look away to focus. It's not easy — even less so because of how hot the room is.

"I mean," you manage, your eyes settled on the floor, "believe me when I tell you — this is flattering… and very exciting, sure. But what are we _doing_ , Annabeth?"

"Please," she begs you. "Let's just not go there."

And you agree with a nod. It must already be too rough for her to be dealing with her conflicting feelings for her boyfriend, she doesn't need to be reminded just how conflicting the feelings for her new friend are. You should know — you're in much the same situation.

"Yeah, okay." You sit up.

As if he were whispering it into your ear, you hear Little Leo's impressed voice. _Good, good_ , it says. _Show her the candy then tuck it away, and soon she'll be begging for it._ You tell it to shut up, blushing metaphorically in response to your unconscious ideas. _You're on her bed, and you were making-out_ , Little Leo retorts. _Maybe that idea I just gave you wasn't quite as unconscious, my friend…_

You curse the couple of giants you fought last December for not killing you when they had the chance.

"It just…" you shrug, still not looking at her. "Sort of scares me." You sigh.

Annabeth sighs too, falling on the bed next to you. "Tell me about it… Can't believe we were just about to—"

"Yeah," you interrupt. You're afraid if she says it, it'll be real. Stopping it could not be enough to keep you from thinking it. It's barely Saturday afternoon. You still have to share the bed with her through the night. Your stopping it could not be enough to keep it from happening. "Yeah, me neither," you continue; your attempt at being nonchalant is as mediocre as ever. "So… Tell me, instead."

Rolling onto her back, Annabeth exhales loudly. "Because that's much better."

Nonetheless, she _does_ tell you about it after taking another deep breath.

"Well. Luke was… Um… I don't think I've told you much about him so far… Well, he was my friend. Once. Sort of like a protector also. He and Thalia — yeah, Jason's sister; you got that right — they found me when I ran away from home. I was like seven, then. The story itself of what went on and how it was all connected to the destruction of Kronos… Let's say it could easily fill four or five books. Anyway. Before he became a tool of destruction for the Father Titan, he was my first crush. That much you know already.

"When I fell in love with him, I cannot say. It's sort of one of those indefinite things. Not like one day I woke up and started loving him. It was slow, but inevitable, I suppose. He was always so good at everything. And he was so good to me. Imagine you're lost and don't know what to do. You're just a kid whose freshest and more permanent memories have to do with Disney Princesses and awful monsters. When they rescued me, he became sort of like my prince, and Thalia became sort of like my best friend.

"Soon we were rescued by a satyr. Grover. Thalia died… I know, it's been a long time, and it turned out she wasn't dead, so pardon me if I'm a bit cold about it. So, she died. And, at Camp, Luke was even more amazing.

"Anyway, I think it's then that I started to _really_ like him. When I was seven he was just like a hero to me. But as we grew up, both of us staying at Camp all year long, we became very close friends. Mostly because we had come together, and we were sharing the grief of our dead friend, and we knew where the other had come from and what we had suffered to get there.

"Now that I think about it, it maybe had to do with this one time he was teaching me to deflect blows with my knife. Since a knife is short, you need to be very quick to land a strike with it. Because of it, when it comes the time to deflect, you have to be even quicker and not fail. I remember he was trying to land this slash from his right — I was supposed to try to deflect all the attacks he threw at me —, but I got scared and he had to spin around to avoid hitting me and we fell. It was very embarrassing. We landed on the floor, me on top of him, and I was blushing like a little girl and his face was inches away… I didn't do anything, but it crossed my mind to kiss him, which obviously didn't help diminish my blush one bit.

"From that moment on, something between me and Luke changed. The idea of us together felt, to me, more like a possibility than just a crazy thought. And almost every time I saw him I was brought back to the arena…"

"So, that one idea…" you start to suggest, already associating it to your own situation.

"Exactly," she confirms your incomplete thought. "Imagine how powerful it was that even after he'd betrayed us all and had tricked me into taking the weight of the sky on my shoulders — that's right, the weight of the sky — and had almost killed me in several opportunities, I still felt like I loved him, and I still believed in him…"

"You still believed he could become a hero."

"And he ultimately did, didn't he?" She turns to you and her eyes are bright and thankful, recalling the one talk in which you pointed that detail out, a couple of weeks ago. "I hadn't seen it like that until the other day, Pipes. I have you to thank for it."

You shrug it off, turning away. "Was nothing."

Your body stiffens, then relaxes, when Annabeth's hand lands warmly on your own. Your eyes reconnect. She's wearing the happiest smile you've seen on her.

"Well" — her thumb dances tantalizingly on your wrist — "it was a lot to me. And this, you being here…" she says it with a subtle blush, "means everything to me, Piper."

And, by the gods, you really wanna kiss her right now.

But you hold back. Your diversion was, indeed, highly effective. More so than you expected. Annabeth seems like she's still immersed in all those happy memories and all those positive feelings. It's only by comparing it to this that you realize she'd been in a sour mood all afternoon, even after you arrived. You don't want to ruin it by reminding her how hard her life is at the moment.

You start thinking bitterly that maybe she kisses you to forget her woes when she talks again. But soon — and for obvious reasons, too —, all your worries vanish and are replaced by excitement — a purer, deeper excitement that's more powerful than lust or arousal.

"You know," she says with a distant stare. "That's so much like what's going on with you… When you told me you had a crush on me — I'll admit it —, I was totally freaked out. But," she shrugs, still smiling, "it sort of opened the door. When I knew you planned to come the next week, I couldn't stop thinking about it. About how you had a crush on me…"

"Have," you correct automatically, while thinking _What's wrong with you?_

"Okay." Her smile widens. "Have, then."

You look away embarrassingly again, shaking your head reproachingly. Your fingers fidget for a long time as you try to pretend your back is not tensed and your skin is not heavily goosebumping in response to Annabeth's hands running through your now-quite-long hair.

"So," she whispers when so long has passed that you think the sun's starting to rise in the East, "what do you make of my story, Pipes?"

"I think it's quite nice," you answer before you can stop yourself. When you continue, though, you're now conscious that you're letting go of all precautions. Thank the gods you're your mother's daughter, otherwise your setting your instincts free when it comes to giving advice would be real dangerous. "It's sweet how you accepted you loved him… And I think it's curious how similar your tale is to that of how you fell for Percy… and now you're talking of how you've fall— Um. Of how you… _feel_ about me."

So, okay, maybe being Aphrodite's daughter doesn't save you from saying stupid stuff. Apparently, she doesn't appreciate your finding similarities between her love-stories.

Annabeth receives your words with a frown, as if she was about to ask you to leave because of what you said. Then she blinks, her frown quickly turning into a reflexive raised eyebrow. Maybe your unintended advices are wiser than your voluntary ones. As she mulls over your words, you realize how accurately they expressed how you felt about them.

Because, indeed, it appeared all the relationships she's had have been born from one particular idea.

"Love's like that, I guess," she says with a shrug, no longer looking mad. "You meet people by chance and all it takes is one thought to make you fall for them."

You nod slowly, not really paying attention. Not really agreeing with her. Far inside your head, Little Leo questions some part of what she said, but all you can concentrate on right now is her.

The streetlight that usually illuminates her room died a second ago, shrouding you both in darkness. It gives you a completely new perspective of what her room looks like. Of what she looks like. From farther down the street, light filters through her window and provides dimmer illumination than what you're used to.

It falls on Annabeth's white pajama tank top and lights up her face almost as powerfully as if she were holding a lantern under her chin. It accentuates her features strikingly, making your lungs feel empty.

For the first time since she lay down, you realize how close she is to you. In your head, you turn your body and move over her so that you're straddling her hips. And you kiss her.

It takes you only a second to realize that's not happening only inside your head.

You sit up on top of her. Her flexed legs serve you as a lower-backrest. You kissed her for what felt like a heartbeat, and yet you're already out of breath. You either have to do more cardio, or you need to start remembering a kiss is not enough reason to stop breathing.

"Wow," Annabeth whispers dreamily. "Such a way to bring back the mood."

And you can't agree more. There's suddenly a fire in the pit of your stomach again. You don't feel like extinguishing it this time.

"Enough talking, I guess?" She bites her lip in what must be the sexiest gesture you've ever seen.

"It's not that I wasn't interested," you tell her — and honestly, too, for her comment has put your mind to work beyond your awareness; it brings back all she's said and all you've thought about it, and starts to process it half without your consent. However, you don't bother shutting up your brain. There's enough of it working for your benefit, telling you all you want right now is kiss her and risk being horny again. Telling you you can control it, even when, deep down, it doesn't know if it's true.

You lean down again and place a few soft kisses on her neck, crawling slowly up until you're back on her mouth, and you have another hypnotizing exchange with it.

"It's just," you continue, not caring if what you say makes no sense at all since you're already so immersed in her, "I only asked because I was afraid of this."

Supporting your weight with your elbows, you lock eyes with her.

"And so," she smirks, though her beautiful, beautiful face is full of fear of its own, "are you still afraid?"

"Terrified," you exhale.

Then you're back on her.

You don't hold back anymore, you just let yourself loose. Your arousal takes over. The heat that's between your legs grows exponentially with every inch of skin you touch. Annabeth moans into the kiss when you place your hands on her hips, pushing up the hem of her top so that no fabric interferes with you.

You never imagined her stomach would be this firm. Or this hot.

You lose yourself amid the sensations. You go blind because of the darkness, deaf because of her moaning. You lose your ability to speak when she forces a gasp out of you just by placing her hands on your lower back. You become all feeling — hands touching skin, lips kissing lips. You can't think of anything in this world or in this universe that's as hot as her thighs around your hips.

Soon you stop, afraid you'll be unable to control yourself if you go any further — though what's further than this, you wonder, that could be any worse?

You don't think about how you didn't go as far as this with Jason, your boyfriend. You don't think about how minutes ago you were listening to Annabeth, trying to find a more effective way of helping her. You don't think about how you know you've found said way, mostly because you haven't yet unraveled it from the newest bit of information she provided.

You just lie there and hug her and kiss her from time to time. Feeling more at ease than you've felt since New Year's Eve. Laying here, so close to her, you realize what you're feeling for her is the exact same thing you feel for Jason whenever you're with him.

Love, you finally admit.

It might not be the kind of permanent love that the movies talk about. You might not love Annabeth when you're not with her, just like, for example, you're not loving Jason just now. But there's no denying that what you're feeling for her right now is love.

It's hard to believe just weeks ago you were mentally scolding yourself for imagining a scenario where you fell for Annabeth instead of Jason. Yet harder to believe that that small spark is what caused the fire that now burns inside you.

Love's like that, Annabeth said. You hear her in your head as you watch her close her eyes, ready to fall asleep. You meet people by chance and all it takes is one thought to make you fall for them.

How right she is, you think. All it takes is one thought.

_But is it by chance_ , Little Leo asks you. _Was it a coincidence that you found her at that beach? Was it by chance that you've come to know her so much?_

You want to say yes, because it feels wrong to disagree with her about something you're barely starting to know. But it feels wrong to think chance is what's made you fall for her, or for Jason. It feels like too simple an answer, like you're undervaluing a feeling that should be so valuable, such as is love.

So, even though you don't want to, you have to disagree with her.


	12. XII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Useless fact of the week — Lacy, Piper's half-sister, appears in one of the Kane Chronicles books, along with — believe it or not — Drew Tanaka, who is also a huge b*tch there.
> 
> Second useless fact of the week — (And this is the reason why I decided to put this here instead of at the end) In those books it is mentioned that Lacy is like... I don't know, twelve years old or something. I'm not very good with the temporary order that Mr. Riordan's books follow, but I'm almost sure that that means Lacy must be twelve or thirteen by the time she shows up in The Lost Hero.
> 
> I wrote this chapter back in January, before I read the Kane books, and, as much as I researched, I was never able of finding out how old Lacy was supposed to be. Anyway, all this just to say that, for the purposes of this story (it's not really that important, the girl is pretty much relevant only thanks to what you're about to read), we'll imagine Lacy is fourteen or fifteen years old, okay? Great.

**XII.**

"Say — and this is me being completely detached from the example — say you were — and this is completely hypothetical, so it's not something you'd have to overthink too much — say you were dating someone, okay? — and this has nothing to do with anyone you or I know — so… Okay, and again this is a crazy, unreal example, right? —"

"Piper," Lacy stops you, and you're almost considering thanking her for doing it. "Please, okay? You lost me right after the second time you interrupted yourself."

You grimace at the stretch of sea that's in front of you, beyond the strip of sand that is the Fireworks Beach. You'd been hesitant to follow Lacy out here, because of how much you hate the place. But she had seemed adamant to go tanning after she made the effort of putting on a swimsuit, and for some reason taking her to that other beach you like so much felt like a sort of impure thought. You credit that to all the intimate memories (that include either Annabeth or Jason) associated to the place.

"Okay, sorry." You close your eyes, trying to concentrate. "Um… And just to be clear…"

"Completely hypothetical, nothing to do with us. Got it."

"Right." You take a calming breath before going on. "So. Say you're dating this guy, right? And you're falling for him and all — not like with me and Jason, see? 'cause I already love him — and then there's this hot gi— um, guy. There's this other hot guy and say you accidentally kiss him once or twice… It's totally fine for you to kiss him because he's mostly just your friend and it's not like you're falling for him… So. You got this guy and this other guy who you've kissed sometimes, and you're wondering whether it's dangerous for you to keep doing it — because of course you wanna stop, right? But you don't really know what you wanna stop. Because it's suddenly starting to appear like both guys make you feel the same, so you're kinda doubtful, but you don't wanna break up with your boyfriend because, well, he's your _boyfriend_ , and you don't know if you wanna stop, you know, kissing this other guy because you've begun to wonder if maybe he's the one you should be dating instead…" You suddenly realize you're running out of air, so you take another deep breath. It also serves to let your totally-hypothetic situation sink in. You discard telling her about how this "other guy" also has a boyfriend, because that would make things way more suspicious. "So," you finally continue. "What do you do, Lacy?"

Your half-sister considers you in silence, her chin on her hand, her eyes narrowed. She's supposed to be a genius when it comes to relationships… or so Drew told you. You expect to be left slack-jawed and in surprise the moment she answers.

However, when she opens her mouth, she makes no suggestions, and gives you no advice. Instead, she tells you, "You're seriously one fucked-up bitch, huh, Piper?" an eyebrow lifted so that you feel like a psycho because of how she's looking at you.

"Woah!" you exclaim. "What's the need for the profanities? I thought you said that swear-jar I gave you would be useful at the cabin!"

"It _is_ useful," Lacy nods with distant eyes, no longer caring about the main subject of your conversation. "I can give myself some amazing massages if I roll that thing under my feet without even needing to stand up."

"Oh, my gods! You do that? I touch that thing with my hands all the time, Lacy!"

"You didn't know? We all use that thing to massage our feet, Piper! Just yesterday I had this wicked charmspeaking fight with Drew because she wouldn't give it over. Now, I may not be very good with the offence, when it comes to charmspeaking. Not like her, at least. But no one beats me on the defense. I've become great at it. Seriously. She had put half the cabin to dance and Mitchel to punch himself in the face before I finally made her give up."

"What? When did this happen? Why didn't I know that?"

"I told you all about it last night, sis. You just nodded and said 'Nice', then you tucked yourself into bed and passed out."

You curse yourself mentally. Last night you'd just come back from your eventful visit to Annabeth. No wonder you hadn't cared about the charmspeaking contest over the massage-giver/swear-jar.

"Not much of a head counselor, are you?"

You glare at her. "I thought you guys didn't want to be subjected to some sort of fascist regime like Drew's. If that's what you want, though…"

"You're actually kind of perfect for it. I mean it, Pipes. You're barely around, which gives us lots of freedom to see for ourselves. It's made us kind of independent. Even Drew's become very willing to help with the cleaning… Well, maybe not very, but we don't have to force her all that much anymore."

"Good, then," you sigh resignedly. "I'm glad my irresponsibility has helped you all grow up."

"Well," Lacy smirks teasingly, "maybe your being irresponsible has also made _you_ grow up, Pipes."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play the innocent card, Piper. It's no use once you let others into your secrets. After what you just told me you can't expect I'll believe you're innocent anymore." Lacy frowns, then, looking at you with what you can only describe as resentment — though, resentment for what, you don't know. "And just so you know," she continues as if her frown hadn't interrupted her, "that thing of pretending your secrets are a hypothetical situation is as old as our mother."

"They're not my—"

"Save it." You hesitatingly comply. "I'm not going to judge you, sis." Still, the resentment in her voice and gaze is very noticeable to you. "I mean, I wouldn't blame you for wanting to date both Jason and Leo… They're so hot. But I do think it's kind of slutty to date two guys who are best friends with each other…"

It takes you a moment to respond. You're still trying to process both the fact that Lacy didn't seem to believe for a second that what you asked her doesn't have to do with you, and the fact that, however right she is about your story having to do with you, she's still got it all wrong.

"What do you mean Jason and Leo?" you exclaim. "No, no, no. You're _so_ wrong, Lacy. It doesn't have to do with me… or with them. Especially Leo. _Gods!_ " You're about to emphasize again how the question is unrelated to you when you remember something she just said. "Wait. What do you mean they're hot?"

"What? What are you talking about?" Lacy's resentment turns into surprise, then becomes embarrassment. She blushes furiously.

"Jason and Leo. I mean, I'd get it about Jason, but Leo…? Woah, I just had an epiphany — You like Leo, don't you, Lacy?"

Her blush looks almost-dangerously red now. "Shut up! You're crazy! Why would you say stuff like that?"

"Gods, you do!"

"Shut up! Get away from me! You're crazy!" Lacy looks around in search of someone who might help her, but the Fireworks Beach is empty for once.

"You know he's my friend, right? I could talk to him about you if you want. I'm sure he'd be glad to date just about anyone… And now that I think about it, Leo and you _could_ make a cute couple."

"Stop talking! Why are you still talking? Shut up!"

"Calm down, Lacy. Why are you so embarrassed?"

She follows your advice and calms down slightly before answering. "Why would I not be?" Lacy sighs resignedly, finally stopping her yelling. "He's a future hero, and I'm just a daughter of Aphrodite. He's one of the seven of the new Great Prophecy. What would he want to do with me? There's no two more incompatible beings than us in this world," she finishes with her head bent low in shame.

You almost laugh at her comment. "Seriously, Lacy? Have you even talked to him, like, ever? Don't you think you're being a bit dramatic? Besides," you add, motivated by the shy look Lacy directs at you, "there's nothing wrong with being an Aphrodite's child. Quite the opposite, I'd say. We're all kind of beautiful, after all," — you succeed in making her laugh with that — "and we all have a way with other people's feelings. My mother once told me — in a dream when I was on my quest — that her children — meaning us — can see possibilities better than others."

"Possibilities?"

"As in, potential relationships." You accompany your next sentence with a shrug and an easygoing smile. "Who knows? Maybe that's why you like Leo in the first place, because there's a good chance it'll be a nice relationship."

Lacy nods.

For a long minute, a silence stretches between you. She seems thoughtful, and though you wish you could be thoughtful like she is, you avoid it. In the last couple of days — or in the last couple of months, more like — you've had enough thoughts to occupy your mind until the day you die. You don't wanna think anymore.

"Hey," Lacy frowns at you, still thoughtful. "If we're supposed to see possibilities better than others, then how come you have this problem you talk about?"

You feel a new blush start to crawl up your neck. "For the last time, Lacy—"

"Stop that. It's okay. I won't ask if you don't want me to, just don't assume I'll believe you're that imaginative, Piper. Lack of imagination is one of the things that characterize us children of Aphrodite."

You stare at her for a long moment. You realize there's no way around it. Lacy is more perceptive than you gave her credit for. Either that, or your poor attempt at disguising your situation was way poorer than you thought.

With a deep sigh, you finally stop pretending. "Okay." You won't even begin to explain her all that's going on with you — you would talk about it for hours, days. You don't know if she would understand.

Besides, you don't want to. It would be too overwhelming to recount all your history with Annabeth; and you're so confused about what your feelings are for both she and Jason that you think you'd rather throw yourself into the sea until you drowned than try to describe them.

"What do you think I should do?"

You worriedly question your sexuality when you feel the urge to kiss your half-sister for ignoring the fact that you're unwilling to tell her more, and for not asking for more herself, but you're so scared of your own ideas by now that you shake your head and give her your full attention before any more things occur to you.

"Well," she begins. "You probably already know that under Drew's regime I was able to date a couple of persons more than the rest." You nod. "It's not as awful as it sounds. Honestly, all I did was walk on the beach with a few boys, then ask them to tell everybody I'd been a bitch and had made them feel awful, in case Drew asked about it. And to Drew I just mentioned what I knew she'd want to hear." She shrugs. "As you can see, it was nothing. But by doing that I actually learned a few things about how other people work… and, yeah, a few things about myself, as well."

"About how other people works?"

"Funny you should mention what I learned about myself, sis, since that's exactly what I think could help you."

Your fingers bury nervously in the sand. You pray to your mother Lacy's advice can help you; otherwise, you're afraid your whole life, illusions and dreams will be shattered under the weight of your bad luck and bad decisions.

"What I learned about myself is that it isn't always the guy himself what makes you be attracted to him. It isn't always that you like him because you want to get to know him or because you'd want to have him as your boyfriend."

You stare at her, puzzled.

"I mean, what do you like of Jason? Is it that he's good-looking? That he's so strong or that he's fit?"

You think about it for a second. Of course you like all that of him, but if someone were to ask you that wouldn't be the first thing you'd say.

What was the thing you remembered the most of the memories Hera put in your head when you met him; what you loved to realize was not just part of that artificial dream, but that was actually part of who he was; the thing that you cherish of him whenever he's not close and that, it just now occurs to you, is also one of the few similarities you find between Annabeth and Jason?

"No," you say. "I mean, that's all great and all. But I think what I like the most is how calm he is about everything, how… good-natured he is. When he's presented with a problem he doesn't recoil, he tells himself he can overcome it until he does. Besides, he's nice to everybody, and is always willing to listen to what you tell him."

"Um…" Lacy stares at you; impressed, you think. "Right. Well, that's what I mean. Sometimes you meet a guy and you wanna have him around all the time. It's his presence what you want close, not just his handsome looks."

You nod.

"But… well… By pretending to date this bunch of guys I realized I liked many of them simply because I enjoyed the… the idea of them. What I thought they were more than what they were in reality. And after a few minutes talking to them, I realized I liked more their looks than their personalities."

You keep nodding, thoughtful. You want to convince yourself that what she's saying applies to you. You tell yourself that what she's saying is a strangely-accurate description of your feelings for Annabeth, even though it's not.

You tell yourself what you like of Annabeth is just her looks.

You see her crying inside your head and feel your cheeks grow warm, see her smiling and feel like you'd lose your balance were you standing up. You hear her laughing and talking to you, feel her close and kissing you, and your stomach explodes and your crotch bursts in flames.

Blushing, you nod at her to go on. "So, what's your advice, after all this?"

"Fuck him." Lacy motions you to shut up. "Get over your profanity issues, dear sister. If you won't curse, you might as well die already. Anyway. Fuck him. Go as far as you want if you want to stay pure or whatever. I have never done such a thing. However, when I didn't like what a boy was talking about, I'd just kiss him. After that, I'd just know. I either wanted to keep kissing them, or I'd want them to just shut up and leave. Maybe that's your problem… just, you know, on the next level of maturity, since you've already kissed him sometimes… not to mention the fact that you also have a boyfriend…"

Blushing madly, you nod as if you understood; as if you agreed. Even though you don't.

You can't decide if it's good or bad that soon Lacy starts questioning you about Leo's personality, his hobbies, his activities, and so on. It's good because it stops her from making any more extreme suggestions, and bad because it also stops you from giving the vaguest of sane thoughts to her advices.

When you think about how similar her advice is to the one Leo gave you days ago, it keeps you from realizing how far she is from the truth.

Because if there's something you're sure of, as you have been ever since you started feeling attracted towards her, is that what you like of Annabeth is not just her looks.

That, yes, one of the things that pull you to her is the curiosity to know what she looks like when she's happy. You're curious to know what would her happiness be like if there wasn't the slight shadow of sadness that's always hiding in her eyes, behind her smile. And that, yes, you accept it, one of the things that attracted you of her, from the very beginning, was how beautiful she is.

But that, also from the beginning — maybe not from the moment you started talking to her, but from the moment you actually acknowledged that what you felt for her was more intense than it should be —, what attracted you the most is how she seems to be absorbed by anything she ever speaks of, how she's always trying to help you understand what she means. That you like how she's so passionate about things, and obsessive when it comes to arrive at an answer.

That Lacy continues talking and asking questions, keeps you from acknowledging that, in fact, you think you like better Annabeth's personality than her looks.

And so, when you remember this conversation late at night, before falling asleep, you think of it as if Lacy had stated facts and not just inaccurate suppositions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommendation for this summer (or whatever) — Scott Pilgrim (only six pretty digestible volumes... So good!); also, watch all the Wes Anderson movies (he's the director)... just for the sake of it.
> 
> Oh, and just a heads-up — the end's approaching.


	13. XIII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I strongly recommend you read the excerpts, unless you paid some very close attention to the last book of the PJO series.

**(A little background on the following excerpts. They occur right after Kronos is defeated by Luke stabbing himself under the armpit. Annabeth and Percy and Luke are in the throne room of Olympus. Remember that it's from the PJO series, so it's narrated by Percy.)**

**"** _**'Did you...' Luke coughed and his lips glistened red. 'Did you love me?'** _

**" _Annabeth wiped her tears away. 'There was a time I thought... well, I thought...' She looked at me, like she was drinking in the fact that I was still there. And I realized I was doing the same thing. The world was collapsing, and the only thing that really mattered to me was that she was still alive._**

**" _'You were like a brother to me, Luke,' she said softly. 'But I didn't love you.'_ " — taken from Rick Riordan's _The Last Olympian_ , chapter 19.  
**

**(This comes as the Fates take Luke's body.)**

**" _The Fate held up the snippet of blue yarn—and I knew it was the same one I'd seen four years ago, the lifeline I'd watched them snip. I had thought it was my life. Now I realized it was Luke's. They'd been showing me the life that would have to be sacrificed to set things right._ " — taken from _TLO_ , chapter 20.**

* * *

**XIII.**

There's this movie your father stars in. The plot is not important — a high-school teacher who becomes a hitman? C'mon —, but there's this one scene you remember. It's probably the only scene you remember of all the movies he's ever been in. In it, your father arrives at the place where he's supposed to commit his first paid murder.

The setting is pretty much just a corridor, cold and white — sort of like the one you're standing in, which is probably why you think of it as you wait. The movie being a comedy, the scene is self-consciously stupid.

But there's a moment in which your father hesitates before knocking on the door. His gun is in his hand. He stops. Takes a deep breath… then a step back. His shoulders slump, so that you almost feel bad for him. He looks defeated. He should not be doing this, this is not who he is. He isn't a murderer.

He frowns; seems to remember something, and pats his sides as if looking for it. When he finally finds it, it is revealed he carries a hipflask in an inside pocket of his tweed coat — exactly, _tweed_ coat.

By the gods.

Anyway. After he takes a big gulp of his liquor, he's suddenly a brave killer again. Without doubting it for a second, he knocks. Then he blows the brains out of his victim.

The short alone time you're unexpectedly given when you arrive at Annabeth's place makes you think of that scene. And the thought itself is like a big gulp of the liquor that gave your father courage to do what he had to do.

So. When Annabeth arrives, you don't hesitate. You press her against her door when she approaches you, not even letting her take her keys out. And you kiss her. You ignore her greeting and the weakness in her voice, her expression and the sadness in her eyes.

It's only after you push away that you realize she has tears rolling down her face. Or had, anyway.

"What…? Anna—"

She interrupts you with a kiss.

Before you know it, she's pushing you onto the bed. You don't think anymore. Like your father was nervous in his hallway when he knew he'd have to kill, you were nervous, just outside that door, a second ago, because you knew you'd have to do just this… this and more. And just like your father was ready after he took his drink, you felt ready as soon as your lips touched hers.

And your disposition became an urge, an impulse you're unwilling to resist.

Because you know that if you resist it now, you won't yield to it again. And you _need_ to yield. You convinced yourself earlier this week, just after your talk with your half-sister, that you've been needing to yield to this impulse ever since you felt it, back when you first came to her apartment and she pushed you into her mattress in the middle of the night… in much the same fashion she's doing it just now.

Her kissing becomes reckless, as if out of her control. Her hands roam on your body, pulling at clothes and digging nails on fabric and skin alike.

A grunt echoes at the back of your throat.

With a push, you turn her over so that now you're on top. From within her eyes, she begs. _Please, Piper_ , she seems to be saying. _Rid me of this pain._

Any trace of rational thought forgotten, you go down on her with abandon.

You hear Lacy and Little Leo. Both of them urge you on playfully, their unintelligible whispers teasing and smug.

"Gods!" you utter, half without meaning to.

Your arms circle Annabeth's hips and press them desperately into yours. Moan after moan filters through her lips. Her center feels hot against your stomach even through all the layers that stand in-between, her thighs scorch your sides; her breasts are tempting as they press into your own chest. A high-pitched "Annabeth!" comes out of you.

With a whimper, Annabeth arches her body flush into yours. Not realizing what you're doing, you take the hem of her top between your fingers and pull it from her body.

It's good you're already blushing, you think. Your body is so out of your control by now, that it's as if you were just a spectator. And, as your hands run the length of Annabeth's torso, you feel blood crawl up your face until it feels like it's about to burst.

Annabeth keeps her eyes tightly closed as you grope her. She bites her lower lip hard to stop herself from moaning. But her moans, muffled as they are, bounce all around the room and into your ears, anyway.

Your fingertips caress her stomach softly, but with malicious purpose. When they reach her pants, they play with the button and the zipper — then they continue down and cope Annabeth's hotness.

And it's that heat what finally rouses a reaction from you.

You blink in surprise, coming back to yourself. Annabeth presses into your palm. Suddenly, you're aware of her, quivering beneath you, of the room that's still in darkness — except for the ray of light that falls for you to see her —, and of yourself, how you're breathing hard and humping into her, your body's will still detached from yours.

You feel the urge to stop, hear Leo and Lacy's voices cheering you on, hear Annabeth cry in more than just sadness — pleasure, you realize, amazed.

"Piper," she begs you. "Please," she goes on.

And with a shake of your head and a rise in your lust, you finally notice the tears in her eyes, still forming and falling, not stopped by the pleasure.

You force your body to obey you. Jump from the bed and away from her. Pressing your back into the wall, you wish it could swallow you whole.

But you can't run from this. Not from Annabeth, still convulsing on her bed; not from your own arousal, still scolding hot inside your pants; not from the moment, or from what you know it'll eventually bring.

"Gods!" Annabeth cries. This time, her voice is full of sadness.

She breaks down, then. Her arms hug her middle as she rolls into a fetal position. She starts to cry in a horrible manner. It's almost too awful to see. But you see it anyway, because you're the one that's caused it.

"Oh, Ann—"

"Stop it, please…" Her voice is weak. You want to go hug her, you want to comfort her. Ease her pain. She's still shirtless, though, so you hesitate. "Just don't… Please…"

You ignore the silly thoughts and go to her. And she clutches your body with a death grip.

You try speaking soothingly, try to make her think of something — whatever — else. However, you don't know what she's thinking about to begin with, so your attempts are all futile.

After a while you give up on talking to her, and settle for caressing her hair and patting her back. You feel quite useless.

"Every time," she begins what feels like days later. "Every time I feel it's all getting better, it all goes wrong suddenly… Then I think of you and… and this…"

The fabric that covers your shoulder doesn't feel any drier, so you're not surprised when she sniffs loudly, nor when you get a glimpse of her face after she pushes away. Down her cheeks there's still long trails of moisture reflecting the dim streetlight.

"I went to his apartment today." You can't help but stare at her — her voice is so firm all of a sudden, her gaze so absent, yet so aware. "To see his mom, I mean… It's not the first time," she adds in response to your questioning raised eyebrow. She looks away nervously when she continues. "But after the last few weeks… and after this…" Her head shakes. "This is _wrong_ , Piper."

Something breaks inside you when she locks eyes with you again, completely certain.

But there's no hiding it, no escaping it. This is wrong, and you know it. And it was that fact what made you jump away from her a second ago. And it's also what makes you find your voice again.

"You're right," you say simply. Somehow, you feel there's nothing else worth being said. "You're right."

**…**

Eventually, Annabeth and you begin talking in hushed whispers of all the random things that have occurred over the week.

You fail to mention your conversation with Lacy — for obvious reasons, too.

Soon you feel almost content.

A long time goes by before you finally acknowledge how uncomfortable you are. It's not hugging her what's uncomfortable, nor talking to her — not the fact that you shouldn't ignore how it's become so easy for you two to go back to being calm and happy. For Annabeth sounds almost happy. But no, it's not that. It's the hot mess that dampens your underwear and that you're afraid she'll start to feel if you don't' stop it what's uncomfortable.

You decide you'd throw yourself out the window before ever admitting that fact.

You disentangle yourself from her and head for one of the three doors that line the walls. After spending a couple of gallons of cold water on your face and neck, you walk out of the bathroom and into the room that's now washed in the warm yellow glow of Annabeth's bedside lamp. You're surprised to see how composed she is — sitting on her bed, her eyes now with no evidence of all the tears she's spilled, clutching a pair of scissors in her right hand—

You arch an eyebrow at that.

"What…?"

She scrunches up her nose, wiping the last vestige of her crying fit, before speaking. "I bought them," she smiles hesitantly. "For your hair."

"Oh…"

"We can forget about that if you want, of course…" Disappointment drips from her voice at your neutral tone; her face falls again. "It was a stupid idea, anyway…"

"No, it wasn't." You blink at how harsh you sound. As if scolding her for depreciating her own smart ideas. "Um… Look how long it is already," you add awkwardly, pulling hard on a strand of brown hair by your shoulder. Maybe that'll make you be normal again, you think with a wince.

In no time, you're sitting in front of her full-length mirror, looking up at her reflection — at her still-shirtless reflection… You're about to comment on that when she starts talking.

"Have I ever told you of the time Percy met the Fates?"

You shake your head automatically.

It's obvious she wants to capture your attention with any possible story before the moment that you both want to leave behind comes back to torture you. In fact, it seems like she's willing to use just about any story to achieve that goal — judging by the way it starts, this tale has no relation whatsoever with anything that's been going on between you.

You smile at her questioningly.

Annabeth seems to be thinking along the same lines as you. "I dreamed about it," she elaborates, shrugging. "Which is weird, since I wasn't even there when it happened."

"Oh?"

"I know. It was before we even met, actually. I only heard about it after we'd defeated Kronos. Do you put water on it?"

You're startled by the sudden change of topic. "Excuse me?"

"Your hair," Annabeth chuckles. "How do you do this when you chop it?"

"I have never thought of what I do to it as 'chopping' it," you answer with feigned dejection.

"Yeah, right."

"I'm officially offended now… I don't know, Annabeth. There's no really a technique to my chopping it. Just do whatever you like to my hair." A small smile spreads on her face as she starts running her fingers through your locks. "So," you avert your gaze when you realize you're staring, "this dream…"

"Right," Annabeth blinks. She looks like she's having the time of her life playing with your hair. "Percy and our satyr friend, Grover, were travelling on a bus from their school… I don't really know where it was. And they were heading for New York. Their bus broke down and they stopped. When they climbed down, there was a fruit stand across the road, and three ladies knitting." After this, Annabeth's thoughts seem to trail off.

Instead of talking, she fills the silence by starting to "chop" down your hair.

_Snip-snip_ , the scissors go.

"And you dreamed all this, then?"

"Last night," she nods. "It was the mystic kind of dream, I guess, because I saw lots of things Percy never told me. Like the fruits that looked amazing, or the gigantic socks that they were knitting — seriously gigantic, they were like this big." She shows you the size with a gesture.

"And he never spoke of the socks?" Her head shakes. "Hm. How strange. He sounds like the kind of guy that would remember socks that could fit half his body…"

_Snip-snip_ , the scissors keep going.

Annabeth allows them to have the most interesting conversation in the room for a while — though their conversation is still monosyllabic and eternally repetitive.

Not knowing where to place your gaze — since the rest of the room is barely within reach even through the sides of her reflection — you place it on her face. There's a concentrated frown wrinkling her forehead, and from the slight purse of her lips you guess her tongue is placed between her teeth. She looks cute. And you tell her so.

All while you try hard not to stare down at the huge amount of her skin that the looking-glass offers.

Blushing, Annabeth throws back a compliment at you. "You have such nice hair." However, her compliment to you ends up being a compliment to herself after you answer to her next comment. "You should definitely start braiding it again."

"Oh, I still do it. You just have failed to see it, because I…I haven't done it the last times I've come." With a shrug, you add, "Takes too much time… I'd get here too late."

The involuntary compliment seems to become more remarkable when she — you guess this is what she does — considers how early you've come those last weekends.

Annabeth looks down at the back of your head, blush still on. "Anyway," she continues. "Percy and Grover stood watching. One of the ladies took out some scissors and cut the yarn—"

"What, like in the Hercules movie?"

"I guess." You hear in Annabeth's voice how she suppresses an eye-roll. "It doesn't work like that exactly, though. It's not like he became immortal when she tried to cut the yarn. All Percy said was that the _snip_ was loud." Her scissors go _snip-snip_ once more, as if to demonstrate what she's telling you. "Grover freaked out. They got back in the bus and left."

Behind you, she lifts a strand of hair for you to see, then cuts it. It's starting to look the way you like it, falling smoothly to just below your right ear. Annabeth's starting to work on the left side of your head, but you're not paying attention to that.

You're too immersed in her story now. The way you got whenever your grandpa Tom recited his Cherokee tales.

"When he told me about it, he said he remembered how he felt all weird for the rest of the day. He said he had started to believe that the yarn had been his life and that they'd cut it because he'd be destined to die when he turned sixteen; which — and I tell you just in case you didn't know already — was what many of us believed would happen based on the Great Prophecy."

"But he didn't."

"Evidently," she nods condescendingly. You glare at her. She works on your hair indifferently. "I told you I knew about it only after Kronos was defeated. Well, when he told me about it he said he'd finally understood what the whole episode had meant. He understood it while he was watching Luke die, apparently."

"Luke your crush."

"The very one." Her eyes connect with yours warily through the mirror. "Percy understood that the yarn they cut didn't represent his life, but Luke's. That they were showing him what would need to be sacrificed in order to set things right."

"In order to end the war."

Annabeth nods again. Her voice and face are suddenly full of anger. "That even then, four years before it all happened, the Fates had already decided Luke would die."

"Wait," you frown. "They had decided it?"

"They cut that yarn in front of Percy just so he knew there'd have to be a sacrifice. Someone would have to die."

"I got all that," you say. Your frown is more pronounced now, as you direct it at some indefinite spot away from where she's standing. "But do you think they _decided_ it? Why then? Why to him?" Annabeth raises an eyebrow questioningly. "I mean," you continue, now aware of how incomplete your thoughts are exiting your mouth, "if they were the ones that decided it, why show it to him? Why do it then? What, couldn't they wait until about a second before Luke actually died to cut the yarn?"

Annabeth is now frowning as well. "I don't think I'm understanding you."

"It's like…" You try hard to arrange your ideas. Annabeth's scissors have now stopped snipping — something that, deep down, you hope doesn't mean she's cut more than she meant to somewhere at the back of your head. Your next comment is barely conscious. Your ideas are _that_ messy right now. "It's like with that prophecy Rachel gave us before we went on our quest. It's not like she knew what it meant, but she still said it, right?"

"Right?"

Annabeth seems freaked out by your sudden mood. You're freaked out yourself, but you can't help it. For some reason, all this feels disturbingly relevant to you.

"Right," you go on. "The fact that she said it doesn't mean she decided what would happen, much less that she knew."

"Well, yeah," Annabeth interrupts you, sounding quite doubtful, "but we're talking about the Fates here, not just some Oracle."

"Some Oracle," you laugh, half-hysterically. "But it's not just some Oracle! She obeys a higher authority… sort of. Doesn't she? What Rachel does is not even interpreting the designs of the gods or something. She just tells us about them. If you think about it, even the gods obey this another higher authority. After all, they're depending on us to save them, right? It's not like they know whether we'll succeed or not."

"Okay?"

"So, what if even the Fates obey this higher authority as well? What if all they did was show Percy there would be a sacrifice? Maybe they already knew who'd be dying, but that doesn't mean they were the ones who _decided_ it. Maybe they were just _aware_ of it…"

"What you're saying is," Annabeth tried to sum up, "that even the Fates can only _know_ the future, not decide it? As if it was all sort of… destined to be?"

"You meet people by chance," she continues, "and all it takes is one thought to make you fall for them."

Then you realize her mouth wasn't moving. Her voice keeps echoing in your head, though, until…

It all clicks together. You now know why this felt so relevant. You now finally found what you've been trying to discover for weeks.

The idea. The truth.

"Annabeth that's it!" If she hadn't placed her hands on your shoulders half a second ago as if to calm you down, you probably would've jumped right out of your seat.

She's looking at you as if you were mad — which, you think, is probably true. " _What's_ it?" she exclaims.

"Think about it!" Your crazy eyes meet the reflection of hers. "You and Luke — You and Percy — It's all meant to be!"

"What's that got to do with—"

Her eyes go wide. She and you — you've always sort of had this way of getting what the other is saying… Just by looking at her, you know her thoughts have followed yours, even if she hadn't realized it until just now.

"Exactly!" You're excited now, rather than simply surprised by your realization. "Don't you see? It wasn't by chance that you met either! You met Luke because you were supposed to. You loved him because that would save him. Maybe in the end it didn't turn out to be the kind of love you thought it was, but—"

"But the fact that at some point I believed it—"

"Was what saved him!"

Blinking, Annabeth stumbles backward until she's sitting on the edge of her bed. You turn on the chair until you're facing her. Her eyes are getting teary, her breathing's coming hard. Shakily, she directs an astonished, slack-jawed expression at you.

"What you're saying is—"

"That you're supposed to be missing Percy. Not because it's what they all expect of you, or because you're supposed to be the one closest to him. You're supposed to miss him because you love him!"

"Because I—"

"Because you're meant to be with him!"

You see Annabeth's life flash in front of her eyes. You see her feeding an unconscious Percy Jackson at the Big House, fighting against a giant Cyclops at his side, crying her eyes out after a volcano exploded with him inside it. Suddenly, you're sixteen, like her, and standing with her at the throne-room of Olympus — which looks exactly as she's described it —, looking into the green orbs of the kid she loves; watching her as she sees him and realizes that what she's feeling for him is love, and learning for the first time just how different this feeling is to the one the blonde kid who's dying at your feet makes her feel.

And you feel her sadness and her grief, her confusion and her love… You feel what she's felt over the last month whenever she thinks of him and of you — not grief, though, nor sadness, just anxiousness. Anxiousness over the fact that she knows she loves him, and yet she resists it. Not because she doesn't _want_ to love him, but because she's trying to suppress it, she's trying to pretend she doesn't.

Because she's afraid that, if she admits she loves him, it will all end badly for him — or for her —, just like the last time she loved someone.

But then, just as you watch her, you see her resistance finally crumbling, you see the pain leave her eyes as she allows herself to accept it — to acknowledge that there's love in there, deep within her soul… No, not deep. Just below the surface, in fact, just about to come out.

And when it comes out you notice how close you are and you are afraid. There's such love in her eyes, suddenly, that you're afraid she'll get confused again. You're afraid she'll misdirect her feelings just as she has misdirected them over the last couple of months, every time she's been with you, every time she's kissed you…

And you painfully realize why it felt so wrong, what you did to her not an hour ago, when your hand crept towards her crotch—

Okay, that's enough of that, you stop yourself. The memory is still too fresh.

You blink and shake your head, coming out of a daze you didn't know you'd fallen into. Annabeth's in front of you, her eyes brimming with the tears she doesn't need to spill anymore; her lips sketching a smile.

And seriously. Her eyes shouldn't be so full of emotion when looking at you. Much less when you've just achieved in making her see why it's okay for her to miss her boyfriend.

"So," she begins. Five minutes haven't gone by, you're sure, but it feels as if a whole lifetime — Annabeth's lifetime — have separated the then from the now. "You believe my meeting Percy was not by chance?"

"Your meeting—? Annabeth, is that all you get from what I've said?" You're obviously annoyed, for, now that you've finally arrived at an answer, you're capable of looking back and seeing all the trouble you've gone to to get here.

"No," she actually chuckles. "Of course not, Pipes. Just… Please?"

Whatever, you figure.

"I suppose," you tell her, shrugging. "I mean, I don't know how all this works for normal people, but I'm convinced that for us demigods there's not such a thing as a coincidence. Nothing happens by chance."

Her expression falls slightly. For a short second, you're afraid she'll break down again. However, this hesitance of her is one you've never seen. It's a far more analytic one, as if some new question had just been raised inside her head.

The smile's back on before you know it. She stands up, shamelessly rubbing the tears out of her eyes, as you've seen her do now countless times.

"Thanks, Pipes… Really," she adds, and in her eyes you see how much she appreciates what you've done for her — not just today, but for the last several weeks… even the things you don't wanna think about anymore…

Like the comforting words you whispered in-between kisses at the middle of the night…

Anxiously, you once more become aware of the fact that she's shirtless. You blush.

"It was nothing," you dismiss it with a wave of your hand.

Annabeth walks towards you and turns you on your seat. The scissors are back in her hand. Her face is still full of gratitude. She shakes her head.

"It was all," she answers.

And, _Snip-snip_ , the scissors go.

**…**

A day like this shouldn't be so warm.

But it unfortunately is.

"Stop that," you tell Leo. "Why bother _me_?" Really, he's not even supposed to be here with you. His cabin is across from yours. What's more, he's supposed to be working on his murdering trireme. What's he doing here?

He shakes your shoulder again.

"Piper," he whispers. "It's all meant to be, see?"

"I see," you nod, for the sake of him shutting up. You keep your eyes closed.

"See? _Sí_? That's yes in Spanish, girl."

"No."

" _Sí._ I swear it is. Yeah."

" _Sí,_ then," you agree condescendingly. It's just too warm to disagree to anything.

"It's all meant to be," he murmurs again.

You roll on your mattress, burying your face deep in your pillow in an attempt to cover the sun that filters through your curtains.

But wait — there's no windows near your bed.

" _All_ of it is meant to be," Leo remarks meaningfully, if a bit resignedly.

" _Sí, sí, sí_ ," you repeat, exasperated. "Okay, whatever."

"How would you know that?" he asks softly. Then, his tone changing suddenly — "It's a goodbye, then."

"Whatever, whatever. _Sí_ , yes and whatever."

"Hey," you feel him poking your ribs. "How would you know that?" His voice is again soft. He pokes once more. Is that even his voice, though?

You roll over suddenly, reaching out to grab his hand before he pulls it away.

But it's not his hand you grab. It can't be.

"A so long, then," Leo decides, animated, apparently aware of how your stomach becomes an erupting volcano.

"How would you know that?" Annabeth asks once more.

You finally wake up, trying to distinguish her face through your sleep. "What?"

"That sí is yes in Spanish."

Your hands rub your eyes. "Who knows…" You yawn. "Maybe Leo mentioned it some time." Annabeth yawns with you. "There's this movie my dad once made. He was a Mexican drug-dealer who turned good absurdly." You also yawn. "Maybe I learned it then…"

"Is it true?"

"Isn't it?"

Annabeth chuckles.

"Could you turn out the sun?" you beg of her.

"Oh, right." She stands up and goes out of your line of vision, towards the window. You're much too sleepy as to turn your head, so the only signal you get of her closing the curtains is that a comforting freshness invades the side of your face that had been exposed.

With relief, you feel how light your head is now that your hair is short like it used to be. If you didn't remember last night, or if you weren't laying on her bed; if you were just meeting her at Camp after a day hanging out with Jason, with your hair this short and your excitement about being close to her as controlled as it is now, probably you could be tricked into believing that this was not the present, but the past. That months haven't gone by, dragging with them so much confusion and troubling emotions.

Your stomach was burning a moment ago, when you grabbed her hand. But when your eyes opened and you saw her, with her easygoing smile and her questioning raised eyebrow, you felt as if a bucket of deliciously-cold water had fallen on you.

And as you turn and catch a glimpse of her bra-strap loosely hanging by her elbow, you realize there's no fire in your insides anymore.

_A so long, then_ , Leo said in your dream. The so long worries you. You have to admit it. But who cares? For uses of the immediate future, the so long is as good as a goodbye.

"So," you begin. "Um… oh!" — remembering something, you support yourself on your elbows to look at her — "Forgot to tell you… Chiron said this was the last time I'd be brought using Camp's vehicles. Apparently, Argus demanded to know whether he is still head of security or if he's just my personal chauffeur."

"Chauffeur?"

"I'm quoting," you nod. "He actually used that word, according to Chiron."

"Rich-girl problems?"

"Believe it or not, it's not the first time I'm involved in something like that." Annabeth chuckles. Not wanting her to ask further about it, you say, "So… since this is our last weekend, I hope you have a good plan…" You hesitate before you make your next comment, but you finally decide it's worth it — it could serve as a test after yesterday's events, you think. "…Wise-girl," you finish.

Annabeth opens her mouth, but no word is uttered.

She eyes you warily, stunned. It's a nickname her boyfriend uses for her, as far as you know. It was risky for you to use it. You expect she'll either become mad, start to cry, or blush in that involuntarily sultry manner of hers.

She does neither — blinking at you, then at your lips as if not wanting; then simply smiling.

You wanted to test her, you tell yourself. Well, you tested her. And she passed.

"Well," she shrugs. "I'd just thought we could watch TV, maybe… Some movies. I'd rather just stay here with you today."

You smile, remembering how the Leo from your dream — _Little_ Leo, now you guess — said goodbye to you; as if letting you know that the discovery of last night was the culmination of all the feelings you thought you had developed for her. A fact that you became aware of right after you stated the key to your idea — _It's all meant to be_ , you said, Leo whispered in your dream —, even if it's until now that you acknowledge it.

Too late now for him to see you in the vast landscape of your mind, you wave at him, mentally whispering "Goodbye".

In the back of your mind a question arises — Why would _he_ repeat that it's all meant to be? What is, according to him? — but you ignore it even as you see Annabeth's eye's twitch as if tortured by the same question.

But Leo said so long to you, and you waved him away. A so long might not be a goodbye, but for the immediate future, you decide to take it as such.

"It's a good plan," you tell Annabeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It must be hard to believe that I spent over three weeks writing this one chapter, huh? And sadly, it still left me slightly dissatisfied, to tell the truth.
> 
> But anyway, I hope you people have enjoyed this ride. It's not quite done yet, do not fret, but we're getting there. It gives me a chance to work on other things, and I intended to ask, have many of you, scant readers, read the Demigods and Magicians series? Or, for that matter, the Kane Chronicles books? How would you feel about a femslashy crossover-series spin-off starring a couple of friendly characters from both the chronicles and the Percy Jackson books? I mean, I'm aware no one's gonna answer probably, but since I haven't seen any story written under those terms lying around, I'm considering a couple of ideas based on that description. If you feel like letting me know your opinion, please put it in a comment or whatever.
> 
> And, just as a last comment, I realized last week my last time writing Leo was a few weeks ago, and I forgot to ask: does anyone think Rick Riordan enjoys writing him as much as we fanfiction writers do?


	14. XIV.

**XIV.**

Everything looks more beautiful by night. The canoe lake, the strawberry fields, the volleyball courts. Gods, even the climbing wall looks like the most amusing of activities right now.

It occurs to you that this beauty is just due to the fact that it's all empty. Another reason might be that you're feeling abnormally light; as if the weight you took off your shoulders had been more literal than metaphorical.

Testing yourself for what you hope is the last time, you induce thoughts of Annabeth. You remember the sight of her smile, the sound of her voice; the taste of her kisses and the pressure of her body as she grinded into you… or at least, you try to remember it.

Because it turns out all you can see is the most recent memories. Her eyes, clear as only a day in Camp Half-Blood would be, filled with something that's nothing like the grief you'd come to recognize with little more than a glimpse.

You couldn't name that new something. And as you remember it now, you can't name it either. It was an anxious and enthusiastic thing, but you couldn't place it. It wasn't unsettling, though. If it had been, you probably would've inquired about it.

Annabeth and you spent the day watching your father's movies, laughing whenever he killed someone, or whenever there was a romantic scene. Hollywood these days is that bad. As demigods, neither of you could expect a lot, after all you've been through. Still, the action in those films was so obviously staged that none of you could keep a straight face whenever a fight occurred.

It was the first time you've ever seen his films without feeling embarrassed — probably because with Annabeth they were just self-aware and stupid, not serious and shameful. It helped you see your father's acting under a different light. Because really — if he can fight a computer-generated dragon dressed as a Mexican-looking Roman soldier without breaking character to laugh, then there's nothing he cannot do.

But anyway, that's not what you wanted to think about, was it? No. It was Annabeth.

Right.

This is what the test was all about. Just two days ago, you couldn't get her out of your head. Now, when you think of her, your mind diverts to any kind of direction, except Annabeth's direction.

It happened to you earlier today, in fact, as you were sitting next to her on the floor. You were using the bed as backrest as a movie played on her flat-screen. Usually, those circumstances would provoke a considerable amount of physical reactions from your body. But there were none then. You were even paying more attention to the movie than to her. At some point, she prodded you on the shoulder, asking whether you were even listening to her. You were embarrassed to tell her yes when it wasn't true.

Later, as you waved at her from the back seat of Argus's sedan, your mind was busier wondering how was it that Argus had managed to use the word _chauffeur_ when you've never heard him speak than in noticing how beautiful Annabeth looked with the pale moonlight raining on her — which of course you did notice, just not with the attention that you've gotten used to over the last few weeks.

Apparently, as is evidenced by how little effect she's having on you today, you've finally stopped feeling like you love Annabeth. Something must have happened last night to provoke this. You remember that dream you had just this morning, where your unconscious's alter-ego — that is, Little Leo — said goodbye to you — or so long, whatever —, and realize just how meaningful it was. You should've screamed with joy after having that revealing dream, instead of just discarding it as just another dream.

Celebrated or not, though, you sure as Hades are enjoying the implications the dream is having in your emotions. Implications that, at least so far, consist basically on not being attracted to Annabeth anymore.

Test passed.

You're stuck between feeling relieved for finally overcoming such troubling emotions, and feeling disturbed over the fact that you seemed to overcome them so fast. After all, just last night you were making-out with her. Now you can't even believe she could turn you on just by looking sad.

What's wrong with you?

Or is there even something wrong? You've been feeding the idea that those emotions were wrong to begin with; so, accordingly, shouldn't the present situation be right?

You toy once more with the possibility that something in your discovery impacted not only Annabeth, but you, too.

Approaching it, you place a hand on the rough bark of Thalia's tree, allowing your mind to make its own way to the answer. You've learned to trust your mind's processes, particularly because of the last couple of weeks.

 _It's all meant to be_ , you told Annabeth. _Don't you see? It's not by chance that you met either!_

 _You believe my meeting Percy was not by chance?_ Annabeth asked you.

 _I believe for us demigods there's not such a thing as a coincidence_ , you answered. _Nothing happens by chance._

Okay, then, you figure. Maybe my mind is not quite as clever as I gave it credit for.

Because you can't see how is that portion of your conversation related to the line of thinking you'd been following.

Annabeth and Percy didn't meet by chance. So what — it's not like you'd been wondering whether your meeting Jason had been a coincidence… Right?

"Piper!"

Speak of the devil…

Your eyes shift from staring at the canoe lake to squinting through the darkness trying to distinguish his shape.

"Jason."

You find him climbing up the hill below you. He seems to be coming from the Big House.

 _It's all meant to be!_ you exclaim loudly inside your own head.

And, okay. Maybe your mind _is_ a genius when left to its own means.

"Did you just get here, Pipes?" he says when he's standing next to you. " I was waiting for you down there. Took a nap, I guess. I was just looking up one second, blinked the next, and here you were."

"Quite the blink it must've been, then," you answer him, your voice covered by the sarcastic taint that he likes hearing — though your mind is elsewhere; "I've been standing here for like ten minutes."

"Really?" In the clear night, you watch as he frowns, amused. "It's probably more exciting than it looks, huh?"

You chuckle, hitting him hard on the shoulder. "Shut up. I was just…" you shrug, "staring."

With your head, you signal towards what's in front of you. Because of it, you succeed in distracting him; which, in turn, gives you enough time to produce one last thought before giving your attention away.

You and Jason… it's also meant to be, you realize. What's more, it was directly induced by Hera, Goddess of Monogamy and All That Ever Goes Wrong For Demigods. She's the one who implanted those memories in your head, who stole Jason from his Roman camp and made him appear in a bus sitting next to you.

But, as you said last night, are not the gods also victims of this higher authority, of this intangible force that drives all actions? You don't know what that authority is called — you call it simply _Destiny_ —, but it is practical, and its designs are being sketched at all times, with every decision you or Jason or Hera or anyone else, mortals and immortals alike, make.

And it acted through Hera, you bet, when she not only put Jason there, beside you, but also manipulated your memories so that you'd be destined to be with him.

And as much as you hate Hera for all she's done to you and Jason, and to all the demigods she's ever condemned, you can't help but love her, also for what she did to you.

Figure _that_ out.

All this comes to you just as you conclude that, actions having eventual practical uses like they do, your meeting Annabeth, and your hugging Annabeth; and your kissing her, and your being turned on by her — everything, from her confusion to yours, occurred simply so that both you and her could realize just how much you love your respective boyfriends.

You glance at Jason, who is, by all appearances, transfixed by what you showed him. His eyebrows are raised, wrinkling up his forehead, as if he hadn't expected the view to be this good. His blue eyes shine brightly, the moonlight turning them almost gray…

Gray like Annabeth's own sparkling eyes.

Everything looks more beautiful by night. The canoe lake, the strawberry fields, the volleyball courts — even Jason; though, it's not like you're about to tell him that, because that would be too embarrassing. His fingers intertwine with yours in the freshness of the night and you feel the happiest of smiles spread on your face.

In the distance, you see Leo come out of the woods, accompanied by — you blink in surprise — your half-sister Lacy. It takes a second for your mind to register how late it is, and how meaningful it is that Lacy stayed so late with him when she's usually drooling in her sleep at this hour; and how meaningful it is that, judging by his body language, Leo is quite content with her company even when he's usually distressed whenever someone — you included — is close to him.

Your smile becomes a smirk as you wonder — half mischievously, half pitifully — just what has destiny in store for those two… and decide you won't even bother asking.

You've had enough craziness to last you a lifetime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's pretty much it.
> 
> I realize it's not a lot of people who've followed close the progress of this story, but to those who have I say thank you. This one was a very fun story to write and a very satisfying one. I hope whoever reads this far enjoys the story.
> 
> I wanted to give a very touching message, but apparently that's as much as I feel like saying right now.
> 
> Be reading ya!


	15. XV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever since I wrote the first chapter of this story, I thought of it as a sort of prologue. Then, since my story had a sort-of prologue, it seemed fitting that I wrote a sort-of epilogue... which is, indeed, what you're about to read.

**XV.**

You've always loved how the waves sort of drain all your troubles away. How the soft sound of the sea rolling could soothe you to sleep.

Far ahead, you see thick clouds being swallowed by the horizon, swirling and rumbling; intermittent lightning-bolts illuminate both the irregular aerial landscape and the softly-moving plains. Your goal is much closer, though.

You reach the top of the staircase and head for the starboard rail, hugging your baggy hoodie close to your body. The wind is fast and cold. You wonder if your boyfriend has anything to do with it. It wouldn't be all that strange. After all, everybody is nervous.

With good reasons, too — it's not every day that you plan on flying into potential enemy territory aboard a menacing warship.

Your eyes skim the shore southwards. It was Leo's idea to "park" the ship up here, a few hundred feet over the ground and several miles north of San Francisco — apparently, his ship is faster than he had predicted, which became noticeable once you reached the West Coast a day earlier than expected.

You lean on the wooden rail, sighing, noticing how beautiful the night is looking. It's good the weather is cold, you think. Cold often involves clouds, and clouds remind you of your boyfriend, and of rainy nights when you and your father shared a blanket as you watched one of his lousy movies; and it reminds you of a certain night when you were at the beach, back at Camp Half-Blood, thinking you were alone even though you soon discovered you weren't…

Pretty much like now, actually.

Just as you gaze around you, noticing how the thick clouds have opened enough space for the moonlight to illuminate the deck in which you're standing, you realize there's a dark figure standing far to your right.

In the short second it takes your eyes to focus on it, you run through possibilities. Who could it be? Your mother? Gods are known for their ability to find their children alone so they can communicate prophecies of death or some other form of dreadful forebodings. Maybe that's one of the infamous giants you're supposed to fight against in days to come — though, you tell yourself, those guys would come in dreams, and you're not dreaming. At least as far as you're aware, you're not.

You've just arrived at the conclusion that, with all the former possibilities discarded, this mysterious figure can only belong to one of your companions, when the figure turns to you, as if becoming aware of her not-solitude at the same time as you.

And in less than a heartbeat you recognize the figure — it's Annabeth.

Months ago, when you felt like an intruder watching her walk into the sea in the middle of the night, you told yourself it would be impossible for you to recognize someone with just a quick glance. Now though, you realize how wrong you were. Because you realize there's no way you wouldn't recognize that figure. Not after all you've seen of it, touched of it, tasted of it…

Okay, Pipes, you gotta stop that, you tell yourself.

It's not the first time you catch yourself thinking those things while staring at Annabeth. For weeks you'd assumed your attraction to her and all the troubling feelings it implied were over. After the fateful weekend you spent in her dorm room in February, it felt as if the whole purpose of your intimacy with her had been fulfilled. Then, when the holidays started and she came back to Camp for your quest, you'd started feeling it all again.

You hated yourself for it.

However, they weren't now as troubling as they'd been over the winter. It wasn't an incapacitating condition. If anything, it made every interaction you had with her that much more meaningful. Besides, although you still felt like a squad of cheerleaders were celebrating the victory of their football team inside your stomach every time you looked at her, the squad wasn't accompanied by the fire you'd learned to despise — which, of course, only served to confuse you even more.

Still, since all that only seemed to affect how you felt around her, not how you _acted_ around her, you'd decided to ignore the feelings as much as you could. So far, that had worked.

All that crosses your mind just as you register Annabeth stepping away from the rail, squinting through the darkness in your direction…

"Piper," she calls.

You swallow thickly before answering, praying to all the gods you can remember so that she can't hear your loud gulp.

"That's me," you say stupidly.

She approaches you, chuckling good-naturedly at your response. "Can't sleep?" she asks when she's standing next to you.

You shrug with a shoulder. "Guess it's not very strange, huh? What with the visit we're planning tomorrow…"

"We should all be well rested." Annabeth nods. "I can't sleep either."

"Thinking about Percy?"

"And about you," Annabeth nods again. "Mostly about you."

You gulp again, and, judging by the way she quirks her eyebrow, she hears you doing it this time.

A warm blush spreads on your face, but you steel your expression and push down your embarrassment. If there's something you're proud of after the last few months of dating — and making-out with — your boyfriend, it's the way you've developed your self-control.

You might be troubled with how you feel about Annabeth, but that doesn't mean you can't see what's right and what's wrong about it. After all, your boyfriend's sleeping just downstairs, and she is about to see hers again after months of fruitless search.

"Annabeth," you frown, averting your gaze. "Please don't—"

"Oh, no. It's not like that," she assures you. "It's just… I've been thinking a lot about what you said… you know, back then. About how me and Luke, and me and Percy — about how it's all meant to be."

"Really," you say automatically, just to acknowledge she's said it. The cheerleading squad inside you stands at attention.

"Yeah." She nods. But her mind is not on you anymore. At least not in the corporeal you, the one that's here, right in front of her. It's as if she were debating with you inside her head. Her eyes have this far-away look you realize you've cherished. "You said it was all meant to be, and that I met them because I was supposed to, and that I fell in love with them because I was supposed to."

You agree with a nod she doesn't see. You realize this is really bothering her.

"And then, according to all that, that you and I met at that beach, and that you had a crush on me, and that we did… all that we did" — you can't be sure in the half darkness, but you think she blushes at that — "it was all also supposed to happen—"

"So that we could each understand why we love our boyfriends," you interrupt her. For some reason, you feel it's important that you remind her how much you love Jason, and how much she loves Percy.

"Exactly. That's what I thought myself. But then…" She falters.

You see it in her expression. The denial. For what, you don't know, but it's there. It's your being a daughter of Aphrodite messing with you all over again. Letting you know how others are feeling just with one look.

"What, Annabeth?"

"Then… I started feeling it again. The… the excitement every time I look at you, the happiness… the… _attraction_. And I know you've felt it too. I've seen it in your face. You've been giving me all those looks you used to give me. So don't pretend."

Pretend? you ask yourself. I'd have to be _aware_ of those things to pretend.

You gaze into her eyes and it's like you're in front of yourself suddenly. You see that denial reflected in your own face, in your own eyes. Her expression is one you can read because it's one you've seen every morning for the last few days whenever you've looked at yourself in the mirror.

"I mean," Annabeth's voice merges with your own thoughts in your reverie. She doesn't seem to care a lot whether you're listening or not, though. "If what happened between us happened simply so that we could love our boyfriends, all this attraction should've stopped, right? Why hasn't it?"

She turns to you helplessly.

But suddenly you're not troubled anymore. Somehow, all you can feel is the heat rising within you. Seriously. It's as if the cheerleading squad had caught fire. You'd been hoping they would burn, but you wanted it to happen so that they would die and stop bothering you. This, though. This isn't stopping their dancing and pirouetting. If anything, it's intensifying it.

And yet, it doesn't trouble you anymore. What you're discussing is the implications that your theory have. And, at least in science, the one that creates a theory is usually the expert in it, as far as you know. That makes _you_ the expert. And as the expert you speak the language of your own theory, and you express yourself in it. And so, as soon as a question about it is raised, your mind formulates a response.

So, you ask, standing up in the classroom of your mind, why do we still seem to have feelings for each other, if you don't mind my asking?

And a metaphorical you stands up in front of the class. But suddenly it's not a metaphorical you at all. It's a metaphorical Leo. Little Leo, you realize.

The little bastard is smirking maliciously, wiggling his index finger as he points it at you. _Oh, you know why it is_ , he seems to be saying. He doesn't need to do anything else, because as soon as you see him appear again after months of not having to stand him, you realize you do know the answer.

Because there's only one reason why he would appear again in your mind. One reason why neither you or Annabeth can stop being attracted to each other.

"Because it wasn't by chance that it all happened," Annabeth whispers. Her focus is back on you. When she finishes, her voice falters again. "Was it?"

"No," you answer, confirming her worst suspicions. "It wasn't by chance that I had a crush on you."

"Nor that you told me so."

"Nor that we kissed."

"Nor that we did… you know," she finishes awkwardly.

Annabeth's eyes are bright and gray in the moonlight, shining in an almost silver shade of white. The gulp that echoes all around you is now hers, as is the deep sigh that's exhaled on your face. All of a sudden you realize how close you are to her. So much so, that to lock eyes you have to tilt your head backwards as she bends hers down.

She leans into you slowly, your conversation in the farthest corner of her mind, by all appearances. Her expression pushes the words you were about to utter back down your throat. Your mind fills with a thick cloud of need and want.

You're about to kiss her, you realize. You're afraid to acknowledge it, but acknowledging that fear implies acknowledging the action itself… whatever that might mean. You're about to go back to an addiction you never fully understood in the first place, and one that you've been resisting for months. You're terrified, because you know — and Little Leo's evil laugh sounding all around you might have something to do with that belief — that once you go back to it, you won't ever be able to stop.

Suddenly, there's heavy feet running up the stairs. No, not feet — _hoofs_.

"Okay, okay, what have we here?" Coach Hedge yells.

He sounds groggy, but he still scares the charmspeak out of you — or he would, anyway, if you could trust your voice enough to say something.

His head pops out of the floor and he glances around until he sees you. When he does, you notice Annabeth has taken a step backwards, away from you. The distance between you explains why your head is feeling clear again.

"McLean!" he shouts, suddenly next to you. How he got there, you rather not ask, not when he's looking so sleepy and altered. That's a _dan_ gerous combination when it comes to Coach Hedge.

"Coach, hello!" You look for Annabeth with your eyes, hoping she has some kind of solution to your current predicament. However, when you find her, she's standing right where you left her, her eyes wide and her expression stunned. She shakes her head at you, helplessly. So you just say, "What are you doing up?" your voice sounding very nervous and very stupid.

"Don't pretend, McLean! I have the ears of a blind human! You cannot fool me!"

Annabeth finally reacts after that, frowning and sporting a brand-new, amused half-smile. "The ears of a—?"

"That means I've been listening to all that's going on up here!"

Your first reaction is to be surprised. Then you frown, feeling indignant for some reason. "What do you mean you've been liste—"

But he interrupts you. "You've been kicking some monstrous faces up here, haven't you? Now, that's just not right. What's the first rule of the quest?"

Annabeth and you exchange a look. While you try to convey confusion through your frown, though, Annabeth is pursing her lips tightly in a poor attempt at hold back her laughter.

You glance back at him, at a loss. "Um…"

"I'm _not_ talking to you, McLean! Chase!"

"Um…" Annabeth thinks for a second, then answers hesitatingly, "Call Coach Hedge whenever there's a monster?"

"Call Coach Hedge whenever there's a monster!" he exclaims, making both of you jump. "Now, what are you jumping for, cupcakes? I'm here now, so you got nothing to be afraid of!" In his hand, he's holding a baseball bat that wasn't there a second ago.

He turns around menacingly and starts trotting the length of the upper deck, throwing himself around the masts and checking every corner for a sign of the monster Annabeth and you never claimed was there.

As he trots, probably waking up everybody else on the ship — meaning only Leo, Jason and Buford The Living Worktable —, Annabeth turns to you, smirking. She takes hold of your hand and starts dragging you to the staircase.

When you're about to get there, though, the satyr stops you. "Now wait right there, young ladies!"

You turn to him.

"I just wanna make sure you learned your lesson." The sleepiness has now disappeared from his eyes. At some point his baseball-bat morphed into a broom — and seriously, only in _his_ hands would a cleaning implement look so menacing. "If I ever find you _wandering_ again, may the gods forgive me, but I'll throw each of you overboard. Do not talk to me about any absurd prophecy now, cupcake," he adds when you open your mouth. "It won't matter a lot whether you come or not once you anger me. I'll already be enough of a handful for the giants if I'm in a good mood like now, they won't even _want_ to picture me angry…"

He turns his crazy eyes on you tentatively, as if expecting to see you fret at the mere prospect of inducing his bad mood.

Annabeth reacts faster than you. "Oh, please forgive us!" she cries. "Please, forgive us and allow us to go back to bed! We're so terrified! We're so sorry!"

She looks at you as if saying, _Well, should I do your part as well?_

Smiling inwardly, you follow her example. "Oh, yes! I mean, no! I mean, we're terrified, please! Let us go! Being thrown overboard is starting to sound tempting in comparison to facing your wrath! Please!"

Coach Hedge smirks arrogantly in response to your lies. "Okay, okay. You may go. But be warned. The only reason I'm willing to ignore this kind of disturbance is that you're right: We _should_ start rolling the watches tonight. Thanks for the idea." Again, you open your mouth to admit you never suggested such a thing, but Hedge stops you when he raises his killing broom. "Be silent! And begone! I'll take the first watch. You sleep now. I'll wake Grace in two hours and Valdez in four. You've already done your share of time. Goodbye!"

Annabeth pulls you farther down the stairs, allowing herself a few several chuckles.

"Okay," she says once you've walked past the mess hall. "That was weird… and he totally killed the mood, huh?" You blush, trying not to look at her. "But you can't say it wasn't worth it." She turns to you when you reach your cabin, her voice suddenly lowering as if to not wake the remaining crew members, both of which are sleeping only feet from where you're standing, in their respective cabins. "Anyway… somehow it felt right that we spoke… right?"

"I guess," you nod.

After hesitating a second, Annabeth leans forward and lays a kiss on your cheek. It's so quick and so meaningful that it leaves you breathless for a moment. When you come back into yourself, Annabeth has stepped back down the hallway and is standing in front of the door to her cabin, about to get in.

The words that you'd been about to tell her minutes ago, and that you had completely forgotten about, fight their way out, and they come out of your mouth as if they were vomit.

"We fell in love with each other, Annabeth." She turns to you, and it's the first time since you've known her that you see genuine surprise written in her features. "We fell for each other and that was also meant to be. That's why there's still… _this,_ " you motion with a hand to signal towards both of you in turn.

You must look as stunned as she does, you think. But you don't really care anymore. You've uttered a truth that's been bothering you for more than five months. All you care about is her reaction.

And her expression is almost all you've expected. The smile is an interesting addition, but the surprise, the shock and the fear are all there as well.

The sight is not that bad.

Hope dies in your chest, but it's a sacrifice you're willing to make, now that everything is out there. Now that Annabeth knows what you think. It doesn't hurt as much as you thought it would to see reflected in her eyes the same binding hesitance that you're feeling.

"I know, Piper," she whispers.

An understanding happens between you. This is a love you'll both have to live with, even if you'll never be able to express it…

But then again, who in this world knows beforehand what destiny will throw their way, right?

Annabeth gets into her room, and you get into yours.

**Fin.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last useless fact of the week — The word count for Francis Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby (my favorite book) is of over 47 thousand words. The official word count for this story goes up to just below 44 thousand. This is the longest story I've ever finished. You may think it's weird (and kinda pathetic, since my story is awful when compared to Gatsby), but for some reason I find it meaningful to know I can write something that approaches in lenght the work of one of my favorite writers. (Although it feels almost disrespectful to think I dedicated it less than three months when I wrote it.)
> 
> Just gotta say, in several ways this is the story I'd been trying to write for something like two years and a half. It took four or five previous attempts (not all of them ever saw the light and barely any is still posted), but it's finally done. I don't know (and I'm not sure I care either) if this story can be called good, I'm just happy (and sort of relieved, too) that it came out the way it did.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you liked this last chapter, and the story. Thanks for reading, and, please, don't forget to tell me what you think.


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